Two days ago, my folks found this kitten meow-ing its tiny lungs out in front of our gate. So being the soft-hearted people that they obviously aren’t, they took it in. Well initially, I was thrilled about having a new pet since aside from a few birds in our terrace, we don’t really have a pet. Our dog died months ago and our last cat disappeared a year ago. But realizing that I’d be the one cleaning its crap and all, my heart sank.
“But it’s a kitten,” my heart shouted. “You can do anything for kittens!”
So despite the awful idea of being back to animal-crap cleaning, I had to accept it. I decided to pet it since it looked scared. That was understandable since my siblings probably looked like savage beasts to it, trying to pet it by pulling its tail and trying to carry it. We see my siblings the same way so I should know its feels. We actually could have bro-fisted if its paws were large enough and, well, if it didn’t try to bite my index finger off from my hands. Yes. The tiny, little kitten was a dinosaur. I don’t care whatever your arguments are— it’s a freaking dinosaur. It took me several moments of eternity to realize what was happening. When the situation struck me, I tried to pull my finger out of the hostile being. I succeeded and checked whether my finger was still whole. When I was sure it was, I was dumb-founded about what to do. I mean, what the hell:
WE HAVE A FREAKING DINOSAUR IN THE HOUSE!
Well whatever. I’ve decided to accept it and I’m going to keep that promise(wait, I didn’t even promised!). Oh well, after that, another thought struck me. A cat(or a dinosaur, whatever) bit me. A CAT BIT ME! This could only mean one thing: I’m turning into a werecat. I’m turning to Cat-boy! But I figured that name—actually, the whole idea— sounded gay so I dismissed it. But I wasn’t fooling anyone. I knew that it was just a matter of time. I knew I had to go away for the safety of these people around me. I had to go.
Fortunately, it didn’t happen. I did not turn into a werecat. It was probably the conviction about dismissing the thought that altered the process or maybe some lovely neko-goddess saved my ass while I was sleeping by kissing me and taking the curse away. I’d never know. But whatever happened, it didn’t work that that well. Some sort of…power was left in me. I knew that because yesterday, I tried to pet the kitten again and it wasn’t as hostile as it was the day before! It was even brushing its head in my hands then. “You over-familiar bastard! This is what I get after you biting me!?” I thought. So yes, good people of Tumblr, I may not have turned into a werecat, but a certain power lingered, turning me into a cat whisperer.
Oh well. After that we decided to name the kitten. I’ve got three siblings and every one of them had their own names for it. One decided to call it Blanca(after that new mushy TV show, Luna Blanca), the other one called it Felina(after that other mushy human-cat TV show called Felina), and the youngest called it Coco(after that story book I made her read). But I knew better. We’ve only had three cats in the house before and I was the one who named them all. Well tbh, they were initially named differently. I was just the one calling them other names which eventually turned into their official names. So this cat shouldn’t be any different. I will name it. I will name it after the other three cats we’ve had. The names were actually not names, but a name. This is what I call all cats I’ve ever met and owned; a generic name that is so clever it makes me want to cry:
That’s just a shorter term for “pussy cat”. Pussycat —> Pucat —> Ucat —> Uhkat. Well the spelling was actually all for style. I wanted an Egyptian(or maybe it was Aztec) ring into it so I decided to put an h and turn c into k. I’m rather proud about this name so I’ve been using it ever since. I know that’s selfish and all but what the hell. I was the one bitten so whatever you say doesn’t matter and is bound to go out my other ear.
So yeah. That’s it.