One never really owns a cat
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We might open our homes unto them; we might gift them with food, often on request; we may lavish attention upon them; but a cat will always remain ownerless. It is not a pet that we choose to keep. It is a creature of free will that chooses to be kept. While a dog might instinctively come when called, a cat would first weigh up its options and only make the final decision based on whatever perceived long or short term benefits may be obtained. And, even then, it might simply wait resolutely where it is until the caller comes to the cat.
There is a cat that lives next door but one to me. Actually, there are two, but I only really see one of them regularly. It is an odd-looking creature. It is neither tabby, nor pure tortoiseshell, nor ginger, but a bizarre amalgam of colours—tortoiseshell and white, or calico. It appears to have been fashioned from the leftovers of other cats of various hues. And it is perhaps this fusion of designs that has given this particular animal a complex, thus making it the most timid creature I have ever known. I am normally good with animals, but this one will bolt at the merest suggestion that anything other than its own reflection may have made eye contact. And yet, despite this nervous persona, this cat still comes and goes as it pleases.
Among a veritable menagerie of animals, one of my closest friends has three cats. One of them is a white Persian: essentially a carpet with eyes. This cat is particularly affectionate, especially to my friend, and even more especially when there might be some benefit in being so. She was once somewhat nervous around strangers, myself included, but has since mellowed and has resigned to treating everyone with the same level of indifference that all cats seem inherently capable of. She knows full well that regardless how much she ignores people, she simply needs to switch her expression from one of lethargic malevolence to one of cuteness and her universe will adjust to accommodate her every whim.
I used to have a cat when I was younger, in so much as anyone could ever really have one. He made use of our home, our food and our attention when it suited him and allowed us to make use of the house at all other times while he was sleeping. When he was awake, he would make a point of getting attention so as to get fed, but beyond that, any further interaction was largely down to whatever mood he was in at the time. Don’t get me wrong; he could be quite affectionate and was a great pet, but like all cats, his independence was never in doubt.
I imagine being a domestic cat must be quite a good way to spend one’s life. For the most part all of one’s needs would be more or less satisfied by humans that, by and large, see themselves on the wrong side of the ownership arrangement. If only the lives of said humans were as straightforward.