Posted on August 07, 2025.

I wish I was a cat

I wish I was a cat. Pitter patter outside and meow under the pouring rain. Feel the raindrops touch my back in the fetal position with my head leaning on the pavement's concrete, and my back touching the sunrays landing off the clouds.

Did you know that the way cats move on four legs is called quadrupedalism? If you were a cat, you wouldn't understand what this meant, but that'd be okay because no one would force you to even understand.

No one exclaims to me, "Wake up and have breakfast," because I can't even comprehend what they say, and no contribution is expected of me. "Meow, meow," I utter at best when some human babble hits my ears. I'm a small cat but nothing in relation to some other entity and with no one to control me!

(Photo by Davis Patton on Unsplash - image cropped)

Meow, where am I? Lost in the endless streets, I let the dark blue and street lights take over the shining Sun. A girl interrupts my vision, but she seems safe and friendly, as she pets my orange fur - her fingers felt like she could be one of us! I give her the permission to hold me in her arms. Now, I wonder where she'll take me.

Four walls, one floor, one ceiling, but many beautiful windows. Is this a human's house? She leaves me on a chair, and I fall asleep wondering if other humans are nearby. A sudden noise, though, hits my soul! An unfortunate awakening descends me off the chair. A dad beats his transgender daughter, but I watch them like a spectator because I cannot give meaning to what is happening, but that surely looks painful.

I see the tears dropping off the girl's eyes, as she walks into her room. She'll probably try to sleep because, more than anything, she'd want to taste the unconscious state of sleep and physical solitude of her room, but can she even stop her mind from replaying what happened?

As a cat, it's unarguably evident that my safety is under threat. I shall leave the house and hang out with the feral cats and hopefully have some fun. I guess I... can do that. How about that girl who let me dwell inside? Should I just leave her behind?

It's likely that the dad would beat her up again because nothing seemed like he wouldn't repeat in the future. I can say that she was damaged both physically and mentally, and it's unlikely she'd heal easily from any of her scars. How do I get her to come with me?

I will abandon this house alone. As a cat, I'm unable to worry about her. Could she even reside outdoors as a human?... I stare at my food container, but I'm not hungry. How about I throw some of those pieces at that evil man with my paws, or wait, isn't it just easier to bite him with my teeth? Oh the meowery, this is the easiest way I can depart the house.

(Photo by Joylynn Goh on Unsplash - image cropped)

My stray meowery begins now, everyone. I must admit it was a fun attack. I'm quite selfish, am I not? Well, it's impossible that I cry over her abusive household, let alone help her out of that hell. I'm sorry, dear Emma. I feel happier when I imagine that we were just two cats lying on a beach side by side while we waited for the clouds to rain because we simply would love it. We'd rob the stores and run away together, and no humans would bat an eye.

We'd only be cats in this patriarchal world. You wouldn't have an abusive dad and bigotry thrust upon you. I wouldn't let you suffer with my inability to intervene. Down the pavement of the popular street in your favorite town, we'd roll over and over, and then hit up a clothing store, where we mess with the customers while we compare the softness of our furs with the fabric of the clothes on sale.

No one would shout "If you're my son, then act like it" and break your beautiful necklace in front of your tearful, sore face. Your slightest admittance of being transgender... Please reincarnate as a cat and find me in the same place we met, and may you rest in peace, Emma.

Cats, abuse, meows... Ah well, the narrator was definitely always a human. I'm ashamed to have written this piece of text. All I wondered was how life could be awesome as a cat, and my plan was to envision and put into words only that.

I couldn't kick reality away from my fantasy. I expected to write about my friendship with other cats and my lovely interactions with humans who adore me but all within a joyful perspective. The conditions in which I inhabit must be so damaging that my mind has failed to distance itself from it, and the documentation of transphobia and domestic violence must've been an expression of this interruption.

Emma now has neither an adorable cat to distract herself from the torturing reality nor a safe shelter to sleep within warm borders nor a loving parent to let her cry. Her struggles aren't fictional or accidental but a reflection of systems that victimize her mere, genuine existence, and I'm trying to dream right there.

Emma and I are both trapped in a patriarchal, heteronormative society with coercive structures, and our existence is consistently looked down on and wished to eradicate. I don't want my existence to be marginalized because it exposes the failure of your gender roles. I want to be unpredictable. Well, maybe that's why I wish I was a cat after all.

Some people's realities are so cat-like that being a cat is not even a fantasy to them. Why is being a cat only a fantasy for me? Why can't I be just one of those powerful men who have everything at their hands, who ruin it for me? God forbid I dream I was a cat.

I wish I was a cat, you might as well, and Emma certainly does, but sadly, we aren't cats or at least not all of us. Nothing stops me from meowing every now and then as a revelation of the desire to escape men's messy way of life. I don't want you to profit off my work, I don't want to be your sex object, I don't want to obey your social order, and I don't want to be deemed a criminal when I don't. I just want to be a fucking cat.