They scampered around my feet, happily receiving the kibble from my serving cup. He practically dove face first into his bowl. She, on the contrary always approached her food with caution. Often I would have to pet her for about two minutes before she even took a bite.

My mother always said it must be a boy vs girl thing. Oliver just wanted to eat. Shelby just wanted some loving on and to feel accepted. I always hated that she put it that way. It wasn’t a gender issue. My cats are not sexist…in fact they are neutered so they can’t possibly be sexist when neither of them have the organs to back it up.

I always thought of it as a personality thing. He decided more selectively when he wanted to cuddle. Took things in stride. Liked food. She, was a worrier. She was cautious about everything except me. I was her safe person. My bedroom was her safe place outside of the room we made them out of the old dilapidated dark room in our basement. She always wanted to be comforted. Held. Snuggled with. She had more concerns that needed easing. He was the ease to most struggles. Calm. Cool. Collected. Curious.

It isn’t until this point in my writing that I realize I just described myself and my boyfriend almost perfectly. Ugh. I’m dating a man just like my cat.


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