A Cat Named Zac Efron

Zac Efron.  Buddy.  We need to hash this out.

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I’ve been living here for over a month now and to be honest, I was hoping that we’d be further along by now in terms of our relationship.  I mean, here we are, living in the same sublet. Under the same roof.  And to be honest, I have found your general day-to-day attitude toward me to be indifferent at best.  I just feel like you haven’t been meeting me half way.

I’m not saying that we need to become the best of friends or anything like that.   Like, we don’t need to snuggle together while we watch Mad Men (although I wouldn’t be averse to it).  I’m just saying that we need to keep this friendly.

Like, let’s keep this amicable.  Can we keep it amicable?

Yes.  Granted, we are at different points in our life:  I am a 26-year-old writer, while you are a 4-year-old cat, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t overcome our differences.

I don’t know.

Maybe we didn’t get off on the right foot.  Maybe I came on too strong.  But Zac Efron, honestly, my relentless advances I made on you early on came from a place of me just wanting to pet you.  Because you’re adorable!  Okay?!  I look at you, and I think to myself, “Holy shit.  Zac Efron looks soft today, I’m gonna rub his fluffy little tummy!”

And then you run away.  Goddamn it, you always run away from me.  I swear to God, sometimes I think you follow me around the house just so that you can run away from me and make me feel bad about myself.

And I know that your skiddish-ness isn’t an all-round boundary issue, because I’ve seen how much you enjoy yourself when others (mainly your owner) rub your tummy.  And it makes me jealous!  I think, “Why can’t I have that with Zac Efron?!?!”

And then I thought we got past it.

Remember?  There was the time when I was running lines in the living room for an audition… and then you let me pet you for the very first time?  You were purring.  I was in a midst of preparing for something I felt a great deal of anxiety about, and you calmed me down.  You let me in.  You let me rub your tummy, and I felt validated.  Yes, you got cat hair all over my black jeans, BUT I DIDN’T CARE, because I knew that the moment we were sharing was more important than that!  Then I go to the audition, and I come home later, ready to pet you again, and NOTHING!  You acted like it never happened!

I don’t want this to come out the wrong way, but — I feel like you might have some sort of personality disorder.  You play me hot and cold unlike I’ve ever been played in my life.  You’re like Lucy pulling the football away from Charlie Brown.  When I come home from work, I don’t know which version of Zac Efron to expect!  Is it gonna be my bro Zac Efron, the guy who amorously presses his face into my leg?  Or is it gonna be Zac Efron, the prickliest motherfucker in all the 416?

Zac Efron.  You’re unstable, and that’s not what I need that right now.  I’m in a new place.  I’m new to the city.  I’m trying to set up some sort of support system for myself.  I’m trying to make new friends here, and I want you to be my friend.  But I feel like the only time that you’re nice to me is when you want something.  Like food.  You’ll rub against my leg and meow, so I’ll put some food in your dish, and then you’ll just piss off.  And I’ll be left washing the dishes in the kitchen alone — feeling used somehow.

We can make this work.  I mean, we’re both adults (it says so on your bag of cat food).

I just need you to acknowledge me.  In a way that isn’t you running away from me.  I’m telling you man, I’m a very good petter.  I apply a very desirable amount of pressure with my fingertips — and I have such big hands, it’ll feel like I’m rubbing your whole back at once.  I’ve had many cats in my life, and I’m sure that any one of them would vouch for me, and would be more than happy to write me a letter of recommendation (posthumously).

Anyway.  I’m just going to continue on talking to you, living here and writing dumb things in my room.  So, if you ever want to join me, you’re more than welcome.  The door is always open, and I promise that I won’t make any sudden movements or sneeze because you have made it clear to me that both of those things freak you the fuck out.


Good talk.

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