My Cat The Hipster

In the continued Tales of Mr. Tree, I'd love to tell you about his complete and utter disinterest with anything I spend money on for him.

Food? Of course. He'll eat food, treats, all that. Gladly. He's a fatty eater, like his mama. Can't help ourselves.

Litter. Yes.

But everything else, he could not give one single fuck about.

In the course of his near-fourteen years of life, I have spent many dollars trying to make him happy. Too many, perhaps, if you're not a cat person. I JUST WANT HIM TO FEEL LOVED. But he never appreciates it. He'll perhaps show a passing interest in the things I buy for him, sniff sniff, bat bat, but ultimately he never likes anything, and what he really prefers are the free things, the "up-cycled", TRASH, if you will.

My cat is a hipster.

For example, toys. I have bought him mice, and catnip stuffed leafs, and little bears, crinkly balls and sproingy stands and chirping bird toys 'cause he freaking LOVES BIRDS and anything his furry heart could possibly desire.

You know what he likes?

The plastic wrappers off of things. Lids. The ties of my sweatshirt. Wrapping paper. Paper that was wrapped around a candle I bought. Paper, generally.

And beds! There was one bed he liked, a bed that used to belong to a dog. Can you imagine? He should have been ashamed. But other than that, no, the cat refuses to like a bed I bring home. I can try to make a new bed smell right, let it acclimate, but no. He has no interest.

But when I went on my mad drug-fueled cleaning spree a few months back, I left one single box in my kitchen, next to my desk. My mom asked about it when I had my parents to dinner and I explained that Bentley likes to sit in it when I'm cooking.

That stupid damn cat. SO picky. Only likes the recycled crap.

Hipster.