Filed under: cat lady, dating, sex | Tags: cat lady, documentary filmmaker, Foreign Cinema, French films, kitty, petnames, the mission, Werner Herzog

She raises her head with blissful pleasure when I scratch her ears and under her chin. I see love in her eyes. She is my pride and joy, my cuddle bear, my little bear, my big baby, my toasted marshmallow, my pretty princess, my precious little cat. She is the object of my maternal instinct. She is always at my footsteps. She waits outside the door when I’m in the shower, and she watches movies with me. When I’ve been gone for a few days, she scoldingly meows for nearly twenty minutes. The boys I bring home are perturbed by cat ladies. In twenty years, I will be an excellent candidate to be one, but for now I think it is suffice to say enthusiastically crooning pet-names in a high-pitch squeal while chasing my cat is an effective method for weirding out boys.
Somehow this rule excludes one particularly pretentious self-proclaimed documentary filmmaker that liked to have sex while watching Werner Herzog films. When we met, I appreciated his snide compliments, film vocabulary, and his enthusiasm to play with my cat. He had the impression that I was a rich girl with expensive taste that only slept with impressive boys. I went with it. He had made dinner reservations, but it was too early. I sat on his studio floor sipping on my favorite beer and mentally circling my favorite movies in his collection. The cat was in the bag at this point. When we got to the restaurant, we were the forth couple seated in a row, each one staring into each other’s eyes across white table clothes dotted with candles. In the foreground, a French film I had never seen was playing that no one was watching.

By elleven, we were making out in the back of a taxi cab like they do in the movies. I didn’t sleep a wink that nite, and then I took the subway home and slept all day. Over the weeks, his phone calls became more infrequent, and his interest in me became more terse. He was always busy, shooting, editing, something. He could never make the time for me, and it made my chest ache. Perhaps if he didn’t like my cat I would have liked him less.
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