No More "Good Luck" Living with a Black Cat

2019 was the worst year for me. EVER.

 

My professional life was in disarray. I gained a lot of weight, lost friends, and my finances were in shambles. My mental state was barely holding on.

 

In short, it was not my lucky year.

 

And I didn’t even have a black cat back then.

Fast forward to 2022, and Hiro, my black half-exotic, half-Persian cat, not only brought me "luck" but also these three life-enriching realizations about having a black cat as a pet: 

 

Luck is a state of mind

The association of black cats with being bringers of bad luck traces its roots back to Medieval times when they were thought to be “tools” of witchcraft. Rumor has it that witches could transform into black cats whenever they wanted to do something very evil. Since religious oppression was widespread and powerful back then, rumors became accepted as truth. Over time, this "truth" turned into a legend.

Personally, it reeks of racism.

So, back to luck being a state of mind—color has nothing to do with it.

It’s confirmation bias.

However, it’s a fact that colors do have a psychological impact.

Seeing red triggers strong emotions. Green refreshes the mind. Yellow makes infants cry. And blue? Friendliness and Facebook.

Meanwhile, due to the Philippines being under Spanish rule for 333 years, stumbling upon a black cat is considered bad luck here.

Well, screw that.

Since confirmation bias is the true and only acceptable cause of association (decided by me), I perceive black cats from the standpoint of Japanese and Scottish lore: black cats bring prosperity.

 

Black cats are impervious to inflation.

 

Today, while most people still associate black cats with bad luck, I see elegance, silent confidence, and strong purchasing power every time Hiro greets me. It took me a few days to get used to a pair of ember eyes staring at me from the shadows during the wee hours. At first, it was creepy, but later on, it became super cute.

 

Black cats as a pet = a preview of parenting hell

I got Hiro when he was three months old.

On his third day with me, I wanted to return him.

Separated from his mom and two siblings, he cried all night on his first day at my place.

I tried to distract him by playing with his cat wand, making him chase pet balls and laser lights, and tempting him with treats.

None of it worked for long, as the new environment was causing him anxiety.

The meowing lasted for hours. My headache, even longer. I couldn’t focus on work, even with noise-cancelling earphones on.

Eventually, Hiro grew tired of screaming (finally!) and settled down.

But that was just the beginning of the “adjustment” period for me (a.k.a. hell).

While I was warned beforehand about the messiness that comes with owning a pet cat, it took me a week to get used to dealing with his litter.

It was a nasty piece of sh*t.

Literally.

Every time.

One of the minor perks of the pandemic is the abundance of face masks, which made the ordeal somewhat bearable.

I live in a small space, so I scoop the litter box twice daily to avoid “perfumed” air.

Disclaimer: Cat sh*ts aren’t that pungent, especially with a well-maintained litter box. I just have a sensitive nose.

Next came the scratches and bites, which became the new normal.

At this point, I didn’t care if the previous ones had healed or not, because new ones would come as surely as those pesky monthly bills.

But something happened during his third month with me.

I was loving every bit of it.

 

The inconveniences pale in comparison to the joy I feel every time Hiro sleeps next to me.

Hearing his purring relaxes me.

His sweet calls when I return home bring pure happiness.

Feeling his silky fur and warm, squishy body when I cuddle him like a baby sends my oxytocin into overdrive.

He keeps me engaged during the boring parts of the day.

The anticipation of coming home after running or cycling is nothing short of climactic.

 

For the first time in my solitary life, I’m not alone. There’s a squishy creature waiting for me at home.

 

For years, I always thought that nobody could stand living with me in the same space. Not only is my mood unpredictable, but I’m also very particular about how things are in my territory (e.g., outside clothes are forbidden to touch the bed!).

But Hiro didn’t give an F.

He constantly invades my personal space and time.

He bathes himself on my bed.

I yelled.

He nibbles on my phone and laptop wires.

I yelled again.

He turns on the faucet by himself.

I yelled some more.

I eventually grew tired of yelling and took the liberty of cat-proofing the room.

By the fifth month of living with Hiro, things have become somewhat peaceful (though he still jumps onto my work table unannounced, so I’m still yelling once in a while).

Having a pet cat has taught me to be patient, that things get better once you open yourself to change, and that compromise is necessary to experience the good side.

And that it’s OK to be uncomfortable in the beginning, as it’s part of the process.

Black is gorgeous

I remember the first time I saw Black Beauty in a cartoon.

I was blown away by the horse’s beauty.

The way the light reflected off his silky coat and contrasted with the surroundings was mesmerizing.

He was a true night mare in dazzling sunshine.

Since then, I’ve always had a soft spot for animals that are pure black—snakes, jaguars, and of course, cats! Just look at these:

Please check Hiro in Instagram. Thanks for reading!