Inked!

I am very remiss in blogging about our not-so-new cat Ink, but in my own defence, the first week he moved in with us coincided with the last week of a freelance project that I was madly rushing to print, and this second week he's been with us I've been madly atoning for pseudo-parental neglect by playing with him instead of snapping pictures or blogging about it. So.

The interesting thing about acquiring a cat, especially one of the Cute Overload variety, is how much I want to come home and play with him. Part of it is the abovementioned pseudo-parental neglect from not being able to spend the better part of the day with him, or knowing that he's alone in the bathroom if both of us aren't home. (He's not yet sufficiently acclimatized to the flat that we'll let him wander free unsupervised, although that is most definitely the eventual goal.)

I've had the look/gasp/SMS/IM of disbelief from friends when I say something about wanting to go right home after work to see Ink, but I get it now why people say that pets are therapeutic (assuming you get the right one for your temperament, I suppose). I get it why people show off pictures of their pets (guilty as charged, the above four image all currently reside in my cellphone) and how they can spend a good deal of time waving colourful ribbons and other paraphernalia in front of the pet, instead of, you know, blogging or watching TV.

And I'm coming really late to this party because I've never had a proper pet before this. I mean, I had terrapins as a child but those really don't do anything and aren't anywhere as cool-looking as diamondbacks. And the chicks we reared wound up as, er, chicken on the dinner table. (No, really, we Singaporeans can be coolly pragmatic that way.)

Let me put it this way: I've never had a pet that, after a busy day, would curl up and go to sleep on the couch before.


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