Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
Tossers
The answer is no. It has to be no. I am not set up for cat life. I am not a cat-safe space. Unlike Max, I don’t have access to a garden. I don’t even have a balcony. Nemo would get no fresh air at all. He wouldn’t even get to swipe at a butterfly. He’d be unhappy with me.
But then, why can’t I stop thinking about him? Why do I keep tossing and turning, over and over?
There’s one moment, around 3 a.m. when I’m certain that I have to adopt Nemo, because the guilt of rejecting him will strip joy from my entire existence. By 4 a.m., I’ve done a U-turn and am back to committing to a cat-free life. No litter trays to clean out, no furniture covered in hair and dander. No scratches to the eyeball. But, then again, no cat curled up on the armchair to come home to. What was it my mum used to say?
A cat fills a home with its quiet presence.
I adore that quiet presence, the essence of cosiness and calm.
Jesus, I’m losing my mind as well as my sleep.
I wonder if Max is losing sleep tonight?
No, he isn’t. I bet he’s already in bed with Greta, exhausted but satisfied, Nemo shut in the bathroom, miaowing plaintively, or most likely asleep, and having no idea it’s his last night in his home.
At 5.45 a.m., I pull myself out of bed because sleep is just an illusion and the reality of it will never come to me, so I might as well go for a run.
I have to put Nemo out of my mind. He’s not my problem. He never was. I’m inserting myself into a situation that has nothing to do with me. He’s just a cat I used to pat, sitting on a bathmat.
Oh, dear god, I’m cracking up. It’s finally happened – I knew it would eventually and now’s the time.
The run somewhat soothes my nervous system by draining me of some of my twitchy adrenaline. When I’ve run my three miles, I sit on a park bench and make my final decision. I have to let Nemo go to a better owner. It’s the only sensible choice.