Posted on August 07, 2025.

I wish I was a cat

I wish I was a cat. 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 would be okay because no one would force you to even understand.

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

No one exclaims to me, "Wake up and have breakfast," because I can't even comprehend what they say. "Meow, meow," I utter at best when some human babble hits my eardrums. 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)

You suppose being a cat is a very favorable reality. I argue that's only if everyone was a cat and no humans existed. Meow! I'm a cat, but where? Four walls, one floor, one ceiling. Hm, in a human's house? Dare I say, a man's house? I sleep on a chair, and I'm right in the middle. Humans must be somewhere nearb—A sudden noise! Oh no, what has been done? I descend off the chair following an unfortunate awakening. 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, uh, painful?

Tears drop off the girl's eyes. If I were not a cat, so would mine. She walks into her room. It's likely that she'll just try to sleep because she'd want to taste the unconscious state of sleep and physical solitude of her room unless she can't stop replaying the incident. It was insanely traumatic. What am I to do? Go check her out, maybe.

I know that I am a cat, but it's unarguably evident that my safety is under threat, too. She's the reason I can dwell inside, but neither I nor she is protected here. Hm, where do I reside? I shall leave the house and hang out with feral cats - maybe I'll have some fun. I guess I...can do that? But wait, should I just...leave her behind? The incident didn't seem like it wouldn't repeat in the future. Similarly, some of her scars, considering both mental and physical ones must have emerged, will never heal. What if he beats her up again? How do I get her to come with me?

I'm unable to worry about her - I am a cat! I will abandon this house alone. Could she even reside outdoors as a human? What a messy situation... 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.

Hold on, remember what he's just done. Is it worth risking my health? It's unpleasant to imagine that he leaves me on the floor like a punchbag instead of finally kicking me out. Well, I think I'll take the risk like that girl has.

The goals behind our risks are certainly different, and I don't want to ignore this fact. She just wanted to live her most genuine life and have her existence accepted. At least, she now knows even her slightest admittance of being transgender would shut her eyes forever - a deadly risk!

(Photo by Joylynn Goh on Unsplash - image cropped)

Everyone, my stray meowery begins now! One must admit it was a fun attack. I'm quite selfish, am I not? Sorry, it's just how being a cat is. It's impossible that I cry over her abusive household, let alone help her out of that hell.

No matter what, some level of reflection is always desirable. The household must've gotten even more chaotic. Now, she 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. I fear none of these lackings are her failure. I'm sorry, dear Emma. I love to envision 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.

Cats, abuse, meows... The narrator was definitely always a human. I'm ashamed to have written this piece of text. I was only wondering how awesome life could be as a cat, and my plan was to describe that. Instead, my mind got stuck on yet another case of domestic violence.

The cat was often portrayed as having human thoughts, but she could never really act on them because she was indeed not a human. It was as though she tried so hard and felt that despair, but in the end, only her feline interests mattered. I can't just apologize to Emma and disregard her struggles, like a cat. Emma is still suffering inside that house, and her struggles must be voiced.

That's what being a human brings overall: empathy and reflection. It's lovely to think that men who are abusers aren't humans, but the truth is that they are humans. They are cruel beings, but they really are humans. Are they cats, dogs, bees, or bears? Which of these has an ability to empathize yet still hurt other beings? Only humans aren't devoid of accountability.

Male abuse is not an accident or a moral failure of one man - it's a result of a broader system. Tell a boy playing with dolls is for girls, makeup is for girls, crying is for girls. "That's a woman thing to do!" "You're the woman, why would I clean the kitchen?" "It looks like she's hungry for that attention." You're allowing him to abuse women, and you're teaching him that women are weaker, subordinate beings to him without agency and that he must not resemble them.

Emma might have been born with a male body, but she is a woman, and she is certainly treated as such. Not only did she abandon her masculinity, her superior, holy rank, but also her vital safety. Now tell me - how much sense does it make to exclude transgender women from the feminist movement?

What I see here is that I cannot even let reality interrupt my fantasies. God forbid I dream I was a cat. Some people's realities, however, are so cat-like that it's 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?

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 is stopping me from meowing every now and then as a revelation of the desire to escape men's messy way of life. No, 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.