Matthew Speiser

I hassled my wife for three years to get a cat. In October, she finally caved. His name is Mango and he’s fat and orange. He whines for food at 7AM every day and he bites and scratches me when I try to pet him. He’s amazing. The best addition we’ve ever made to our little home. We love him dearly. And he loves us too. I can’t prove this. But I choose to believe it. That’s the nature of cat love. Mango doesn’t do anything we ask. And he claws at my eyes when I kiss his furry belly. I don’t let that bother me. I Google “why is my cat clawing at my eyes” and the AI summary tells me it’s because he feels frightened and defensive. But I don’t let that bother me. Because I don’t trust AI. I trust what I see with my own eyes. And that’s a cat who loves me. Who’s just feeling a little feisty. A proud advocate for his own needs. My mother used to buy books titled “How to Talk to Your Cat” and “The Science of Making Your Cat Happy.” I never read them. Who would read a book like that? But I understand why she got them. It’s because she wanted to know if ISIS loved her. ISIS was the name of our first family cat. After ISIS died we had Cassie and Loki, and after Cassie and Loki died we had Nick and Nora. But it was ISIS that inspired my lifelong love of cats. My mom used to call cats “pussies” because she’s British. She used to go around the house in search of ISIS saying “pussy pussy pussy,” but I digress. I don’t know if ISIS loved us. But I believe my mom believed that ISIS loved us. And I believe if that pussy understood that my mom was reading books to win her affection, she’d be impressed. Alas, ISIS didn’t care. Mango doesn’t care either. About most things. When my wife and I fight. The neighbor’s dog barking across the hall. The war in Iran. If I went into anaphylactic shock while sleeping, Mango would stare at me with utter indifference. Unless of course he thought I was going to feed him. Food is one of two things I’m certain Mango values. The other is the birds that congregate on the roof of the building across the street. But eating is his first love. He was a bodega cat before we rescued him, and he was spoiled with food all day and all night. He comes running every time we go to the kitchen. Because he knows that’s where the cat food is kept. If I choked to death on a hot dog in the kitchen, Mango would probably nuzzle my corpse in hopes that he could coax me out of my eternal slumber for a little wet food. The veterinarian pegs Mango at 19.7 Ibs. The average weight for a 4-year-old orange cat is 10-15 Ibs. It’s believed that Mango has a slow kitty metabolism, which is why he doesn’t lose weight. We give him diet wet food thrice daily, plus a “midnight snack” of dry food from the automatic feeder. At the end of the night Mango will sit in a chair staring at the automatic feeder. He has no conception of time. So he doesn’t know when the automatic feeder will bless him with its crunchy pellets. I feel bad for Mango in these moments. Watching the automatic feeder like it holds mystical powers. So I Google if it’s inhumane to auto-feed your cat. And the AI summary says it’s not inhumane per se, but it can lead to reduced bonding between you and your kitty. I don’t let this bother me. Because I know my kitty. And I know he doesn’t care about me when he’s hungry. But after he eats? VERY playful. We’ll dangle a furry little toy worm on a string and Mango will go hide in a corner of the apartment and stare at it like he’s stalking his prey. It’s a clever technique. But it doesn’t burn any calories. Often I’m impressed by how far Mango will go to not be active. After 15 minutes of staring at the furry worm, Mango will pounce, miss, then curl up on the couch and go to sleep. Breathing heavy like James Gandolfini. I’ll try to pet him for being such a cute boy and he’ll snap and bite my fingers. Apparently it’s called “petting overstimulation.” Yes Mango loves us. No doubt in my mind. We posted his likeness on r/OneOrangeBrainCell — the Reddit community for people who have orange cats — and it got 1300 upvotes. This confirmed our perspective that we have a top-tier pussy. We told Mango how popular he is on the internet but he just kept staring at the automatic feeder. He has no conception of the internet. But I’m sure if he knew we posted about him, he’d be impressed. When Mango first moved in with us he slept on the couch in the living room. But then we started bribing him with treats to come snuggle in bed. But then we stopped doing this because he gained 0.6 Ibs. Eventually he started coming to bed without being bribed. He’d knead his favorite blanket which we strategically placed between us and then stretch out into a long loaf. Sometimes he’d stretch so far it’d push me or my wife to the edge of the bed. And then we’d get a bad night’s sleep. But it’s worth it for Mango’s company.