Jealousy at the Cat Café is a real thing

A disabled cat got more attention than me and it made me feel weird

The most competitive environment I’ve ever been in is a cat café.

I was on the volleyball team in high school. Even worse, I was a girl in high school. My productivity was measured by the minute and scored on a weekly basis when I worked in a corporate copywriting department. I’ve been submitting my writing for publication for years and have an impressive 99.9% rejection rate. Competition is everywhere and fierce. Putting in the work to reach goals and dreams is important. I also believe in uplifting each other. I have a There’s enough space for everyone—If there isn’t a seat for you at a table, bring your own seat, or better yet, bring your own table! kind of mindset.

But there are only so many cats.

You can sit at the table, but it doesn’t guarantee you’ll get to pet a cat.

It’s my eight-year-old’s last half-term break of the year this week. For my North American readers, this means my kid is off school, again, because schools in the UK schedule two-week breaks every five to six weeks during the year. This isn’t a joke. In North America we get what? Two weeks over the Holidays and one week in March?

I’m not a planner even though I obsess about the future a lot. But the thing I’ve learned about half term breaks is that you have to book things in advance before every museum or kid-friendly activity is sold out. I can’t always resort to “Let’s pretend we’re at the Cineplex and watch movies in bed with the curtains closed.”

So I booked a table at Java Whiskers.

My kid has been asking me to go for a long time. He loves animals, especially cats, but we are a non-pet family for reasons I won’t get into because it’s taboo and it has nothing to do with allergies. The next best thing for my sweet angel of a prince is to spend time with families who have pets. But as you know we are in London and I have to say, wow, making new friends, let alone friends with pets, is really hard. So I paid £40 pounds (approx. $80CAD holy shit) to sit in a quiet room with feline rescues for 55 minutes.

The room, a closed off space from the main café area, had tables and chairs, sofas, benches and various cat-friendly contraptions like cardboard-covered columns. Illustrations of famous people with cats, John Lennon, Ingrid Bergman, Pablo Picasso, Freddy Mercury, hung on the walls. Were they even cat people? I have no idea.

Hands washed and shoes off, we made our way to one of the available seats.

“Why aren’t there cats at our table?” my son asked as he looked over to the table across us. A couple with septum rings and studded leather belts were cooing over a large grey and white cat with half an ear.

My eyes searched for the other cats. There was an orange one resting on a lady’s thighs. A small black and white one was sleeping on a platform near the ceiling. At the far end of the room, a family with three kids were playing with a cat I couldn’t quite see. Four cats. I counted how many people were in the room… Fourteen, including us. Everyone who didn’t have a cat at their table was eyeing those who did, some even trying to lure a cat away with toys or by making clicking sounds with their tongues. The envy was palpable.

“Well…” I said. “The cats are busy with other people for the moment. Maybe one will come later.” Panic rose in my kid’s eyes. I felt his heart sink at the possibility of not petting a cat in the next *checks watch* fifty minutes.

“You know what…” I continued. I turned my gaze to the couple across us. The grey and white cat with half an ear kept jerking his head at them. He didn’t want to be touched and he was giving them a clear warning. He then got up and fled to the far end of the room. The couple followed the cat and took pictures with him while making “rock on” signs with their hands. I turned to my son. “Cats don’t like it when we’re all over them. They don’t like desperate energy. So let’s do our own thing. Even better, let’s act indifferent. You’ll see. They’ll come.”

“Are you sure Mom?”

“Positive.”

The barista, a twenty-something with a long red braid, walked in with my green tea and my son’s lemon and poppy seed muffin.

The grey and white cat, who’d unsuccessfully been trying to flee the rockstar couple, hurried over to the barista. He hopped onto a table, presumably to be saved from his unsolicited photoshoot. Everyone turned their attention to the scene.

“This guy is fairly new,” she said to the room as she pet his head. “His name is Buster. He’s still getting used to this. He’s actually a cancer survivor.”

A collective “awwwwwww” ensued. I rolled my eyes. So what? Me too.

“That’s why he’s missing half an ear.” Another collective burst of sympathy.

“He’s so brave!” cried a woman.

My jaw tightened. Fuck that guy and his missing ear! I thought of the missing organ in my body, of the pills I have to take for the rest of my life, and realized I have more unresolved anger and resentment about the *C-word* than I thought. It happened a decade ago and I don’t talk or write much about it because I don’t want it to define who I am. All it takes is a disabled cat getting more attention than me and I’m back under the blinding lights of an operating table, arms spread out in a cross, heart pounding beneath my chest, wondering how the hell I got there.

I took a sip of tea and focused on relaxing my jaw as per instructions I saw on Instagram.

My son and I were chatting about our plans for the rest of the day (mini golf) when all of a sudden, a white and orange cat jumped on my son’s lap. His eyes lit up and he smiled, turning to me.

“Mom!!!!”

“See?” I said. “I told you they’d come!”

Everyone’s gaze turned to our table. A woman who had her back to us turned her chair for a better view. Subtle daggers were shooting out of her eyes. The rockstar couple pulled out their phones in case the white and orange cat decided to jump over to them. A young brother and sister walked up to our table with a plastic fishing line toy, hoping the rubber mouse at the end of the line would be more interesting than my son’s lap. The audacity!

My son gently pet the cat’s soft head. The creature closed his eyes and relaxed his body, taking a quick nap before leaping off towards another table. I looked at my son’s black jogging pants, completely covered in hair, and made a mental note to throw them in the wash as soon as we got home.

It was worth it though.

---

Obsessions of the week

I don’t have any! It’s been a busy week with my kid, trying to come up with new ways to spend his amazing energy that doesn’t include screens. We went indoor rock climbing for the first time (very out of character for me) and I thought I was going to die (very on brand).

See you next week.