Matt's Cats

My friend Matt, soon after moving into a new apartment, informed me that he intended to adopt a cat. I tried to talk him out of it (being a dog person, myself), but, as he pointed out, his one-bedroom, 3rd-floor place was not an appropriate receptacle for a puppy. Besides, once Matt's mind is made up, he's sort of a lost cause. So, after a lengthy discussion online (in which he swamped me with arguments regarding the agreeable nature of the intended breed of cat), I was forced to accept his decision.

A few days later, I arrived at Matt's apartment to attend a small party, but wasn't able to get inside the front gate of the complex. I dialed his number.
"How do I get in?"
"Oh, you're there already?"
"It's 8:00, right?"
"Um....yeah.....I went to look at some cats, but I'll be back soon."
About an hour later, Matt arrived home with not one, but two fully-grown male cats.
"You got two," I said unnecessarily, as he tossed them into their new environment. "You're outnumbered." I was horrified at the exultant expression on their small faces as they surveyed their new abode. Matt grinned sheepishly, stroking fondly at the clawed creature now making its way up his shoulder.
"They're used to having each other around. Now when I'm not home they won't be lonely."
I wanted to tell Matt that
A) I thought the point was for him not to be lonely,
B) I couldn't imagine one, much less two living things being dependent on him for survival, and
C) They had already taken over his life to the point of his being late to his own dinner-party;
however, it seemed to be too late. And really, he probably would have been late to his own party anyway.

Over the next couple of weeks, I stood by and watched the relationship between Matt and his cats (whose names, it transpired, were Adam and Deacon) develop. I couldn't help noticing that the animals were quite a lot of trouble, and I confess I wondered why Matt had brought them into his home. I observed them as the interacted with each other on several occasions (as I would if I were a TV nature-show host), then formulated three theories as to their presence.

1) Matt was single at the moment. Perhaps he had decided to take a break from romantic relationships, and was intending companionship with cats instead. After all, they were, as promised, cute and affectionate. They also probably wouldn't cheat on him (unless it was with each other), and there is something to be said for that kind of security. I considered their relationship in this light, truly wondering if Matt had sworn off humans in favor of felines. Really he wasn't missing much; he didn't have to deal with that pesky conversation aspect of most relationships, and he even fought with the cats.
Deacon, on one occasion, had done something particularly horrible to Matt's favorite jeans, and I arrived at the apartment that evening to find them not speaking to each other.
"Look what Deacon did to my jeans!!" (Indignantly.)
I remarked that the jeans did smell less than pleasant. Deacon decided that this taking sides thing was just too much, and approached Matt, collapsing adorably, belly-up, on the floor. Matt sniffed.
"Don't look at me.." (here he paused for effect) "...shitty cat."
"Meow!"
"Whatever, I'm so over you," Matt replied, walking away.
It is probably due to Deacon's commitment to the relationship, I thought, that this is working out. However, as I watched the cats stroll back and forth across the computer desk, their tails grazing Matt's chin as he typed, I realized that this theory of mine wouldn't work; there was just no chemistry there.

2) My second thought was that Matt, after years of living with roommates, needed someone to fill the void after moving into a place alone. Maybe the cats were there to, you know, take up spots on the couch when he wanted to watch TV, or promise to pay for half of the pizza and then not do it. The cats did evidence many roommate-like tendencies--Adam was constantly stealing pencils from the desk and not bringing them back; Deacon, in a classic moment of bad roommate-hygiene, partied to hard one night and passed out in the litter box. I wondered at one point if Matt was charging them enough to live there.
He looked at me funny when I asked him if they stole food out of the fridge, but when he said "no," I knew that these couldn't be roommate-cats. I've never seen or heard of a roommate yet that didn't do that.
Finally, while talking online with matt one day, the true reason for the cats presented itself to me.

matt: the cats ate half of my houseplant.
fiddleicious: won't that make them sick?
matt: they already threw up on a stack of CDs that i'd borrowed.
fiddleicious: eew, gross!
matt: aww, they're so cute! i love them! :)

3) I could see no other explanation: Matt, who didn't have any children, needed something to nurture and care for. As soon as I realized this, I saw evidences in support of it everywhere. (Aside from the all-too-quick forgiveness in the houseplant incident, of course.) The cats were always underfoot, constantly needed love and attention, and in spite of this were treated like cute and precocious toddlers. Their love for mischief, even though mostly vengeful in nature, was usually forgotten quickly. Each step they took towards independence or freedom was marked by Matt's mother-hen-like reaction, as in:
"Deacon, get down from way up there, you'll fall and go splat!"
or
"Adam, don't bite my fingers, they might be covered in germies, see?"

As I watched Matt cleaning the feces out of his laundry hamper, I reflcted that my own pets, also, were outlets for maternal feelings on my part. While Matt was crazy to put up with some of the worse stunts his cats pulled, who was I to point fingers? It's not like when my puppy chewed up my favorite Steve Maddens, I didn't sigh, pet him fondly and just go buy another damn pair.