The neighbor’s cat wants me to be its human too. I am somewhat honored, but it’s a no.
She’s a cutie, Her Royal Furriness, but I wouldn’t risk an open window in the chill of Ngong, just so that she can come and go as she pleases. Nor will I cut my sleep short to tend to her meowing, in case she wants to leave the house at 6-freaking-a.m.
And there’s the thorny issue of the staircase smelling of cat poo most mornings. Cat poo I say, not her Royal Highness’ specifically but it might as well be. I most certainly will not risk finding a dark blob of it in a hidden corner inside my house, just to confirm whether her potty manners too, are wanting.
A cat’s human, I am not. Not just yet.