Since the pandemic started and I started working from home fully, my cat Psihoza started having the impression that I have the same schedule as her. Which means wake up late, do nothing, sleep some more, play and then go back to sleep. And she was pretty annoyed with me that we couldn’t do all those things together. While I was working, she would just randomly stroll in my room and make this heart-breaking sounds.
So, I gave in, and I decided to get a kitten. I’ve always wanted a black cat. Never had one. All the cats that decided to enter my life were colorful, but not totally black. Call me crazy, but I had a fixation on this. A fixation that was almost satisfied when I moved to Edinburgh. A local tomcat that I named Donnie Darko decided to adopt me. But he was pretty independent and Psihoza did not want to share me with him, so I ended up feeding him and force some pets on him when my cat was not around, for two years until I moved.
After moving to my new flat, Psihoza’s cries for attention became even more heart breaking so… it was time. So here I was looking for a black cat, a male if possible, in a country where you cannot find them abandoned at the public bin and where people do not give them to you for free. Also, it had to be a kitten, so Psihoza wouldn’t tear him to shreds, and the little one won’t fight too much for territory.
I called two or three people, but no luck. I started talking to one of my friends about the name of this new cat and I wanted to call it Donnie Darko, because … well… But he was listing possible names and among them he mentioned Mayer, knowing about me being a big John Mayer fan. And I loved the idea of having a cat named Mayer. Not naming my cats it’s just my thing. Psihoza was named by the mother of my godson, so no surprise there.
