I’ve now been back in Cambridge for a week, and things are already getting pretty hectic. With two essays and a dissertation demanding my attention, I of course spent my morning watching previous iterations of the ASNaC Yule Play, mostly because I was trying to remember a particular sketch and couldn’t recall which year it was from. Priorities, I’ve got them in order.
My current accommodation has some disadvantages, mostly that the building works outside have been starting exceedingly early (e.g. shortly after 7am), and making a great deal of noise. As someone who loves my sleep and is pretty much nocturnal, I’m finding that a little difficult. You can be sure I won’t be making any vlogs on weekdays, although it’s blessedly peaceful at the weekend, so I’m hoping to film a room tour later. This block does have one major advantage over anywhere else I’ve lived in college, though: one of the neighbours has a cat called Nellie who likes to hang out here.
I first encountered Nellie the day my parents came up to bring my stuff, and instantly dropped what I was doing to stroke her. Since then we’ve seen each other a few times, and I think she honestly likes me, which is rather nice.
When she sees me, she sometimes stays aloof, waiting for me to come to her:
At other times, however, she decides she definitely wants to be petted, and comes over to me looking for attention:
But she’s not a big fan of being photographed, especially if the fact I’m trying to take a picture means I’m not stroking her yet. At these times, she’ll sit looking judgementally at me before wandering off, so I have to take the picture quickly and go back to being her slave, or I risk losing her.
Nellie’s a wonderfully soft cat. Some have rougher fur — particularly when they’re old, I think — but hers isn’t like that at all. She’s shedding a bit, so I’m pretty sure half her motivation for getting petted is that she has somebody to brush all the loose bits of fur off her, but I don’t care because she’s soft and fluffy and I like soft, fluffy things.
Now, I knew that I had effectively adopted Nellie as mine, although she belongs to a neighbour. What I didn’t realise was that she had adopted me — until I left my window open earlier. It looks like I now have a cat.
A cat who is very much not supposed to be here, because we’re not allowed pets in college rooms. A cat who has colonised my armchair, washed herself thoroughly, and then curled up and gone to sleep.
I’m not entirely sure what to do. Even if she hadn’t scratched me when I tried to pick her up, she’s asleep, so I don’t want to disturb her. But she doesn’t live here, and I’m meant to be working on an essay. Instead I’m tiptoeing around trying not to wake her, because she looks adorable when she’s asleep. I did not intend to acquire a cat, but I seem to have done so. That armchair is hers now. She’s not shifting.
Whether she just came in out of the rain or whether she figured out this was my room because she’s decided she owns me now, I’m not sure, but she doesn’t seem to want to leave. So. I guess this is my life now. I have been adopted by a cat.
What now?
I guess I’ll just have to wait for her to leave of her own accord. Then vacuum up the cat hair and clean the muddy paw-prints off the windowsill (however adorable they may be). For now, I’m going to watch her sleep, because it’s weirdly therapeutic.
What a majestic creature.
