It’s very rare my mom and I have a disagreement. Maybe once every one to three years we have a blow out, then after a few days we reconcile. Since our last blow out; at least two years ago now, I made an effort to not bottle things up and effectively voice my opinions with her without freaking out- specifically if she threw out the tried and true “you’re too sensitive” comment or some variation of it.

Now putting aside the dismissive everything about that phrase and how it makes me go from 15 to 70…I’ll get back on track.

Two nights ago I explained to my mother how I’d been looking into apartments and found one my prospective roommates liked in a location central to our jobs with amenities and everything. There was one problem though. The complex has a two pet limit and my roommates already have two cats. I then continued on to say how all the apartments in the area have the same pet policy. Her ultimate response was: I would either have to sneak my cat in and ask forgiveness if caught OR I find someone to take him because she didn’t want a cat. She said she was over the meowing and litter box.

Needless to say this came as a blow. It wasn’t that I was against sneaking him in. It simply wasn’t up to only me. My roommates weren’t willing to take the risk and they already had a great living situation. If anything, they were only moving in with me for my sake. I’m just not in a financial position to reasonably rent a studio or one bedroom in the area.

I have months before I need to move out of the house and of course I’m expanding my search. One of my roommates already found a couple realtors to help us closer to the date because it turns out a lot of houses/townhouses have a similar pet policy/maximum.

At end of the day I’m not bothered by the task of finding a place or even moving. It’s the fact if there’s a worst case scenario then it’ll be me having a find someone to take my cat.

You see, my mom and I don’t have a very good history with cats. When I was in middle school she called while I was with my father over summer to tell me my cat was sick and she was taking her to the vet (her name was Sexy and she was sweetest). I’d had Sexy since I was at least five and remember crying over the phone knowing I couldn’t do anything. When I went back home though there were some key things not adding up with what she’d told me. It became a sore subject that strained our relationship for years- particularly when she told me if I’d fought harder then we would of kept her.

It took a long time for me to put it behind us and then when I was in high school she agreed I could rescue a cat. Fast forward roughly seven years and here we are.

I spoke with my dad about it and he was far from pleased because; well…my mom wasn’t bluffing.

I won’t lie and say I didn’t cry for the first time in what felt like ages, but after talking to my dad who said he’d take my Garfield body double if all else fails…I’m anchored and ready to find a place that meets everyone’s needs.

But not until April because I don’t move until June.

Anyway, if you made it this far then that’s awesome. It felt weird venting like this and I don’t want it to seem like I hate my mom or am ungrateful in any way. Cat’s are just…not the greatest topic for us and I didn’t think it’d all be such an emotional domino effect.

Photo by Lance Grandahl on Unsplash

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