Was I wrong to fall for a cheating cat?

 Photo of Eddie, a silver tabby British Shorthair

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There's a well-known saying that goes, "You don't choose a cat, a cat chooses you." So what should you do, asks Anisa Subedar, when a persistent pussycat in the neighbourhood decides to adopt you?

For me, it began about 18 months ago, one long, hot summer evening when two huge wanting eyes, accompanied by serenading mews appeared at the kitchen door. It didn't recoil when I approached it. In fact it appeared quite pleased when I began speaking in ridiculously high-pitched baby speak (imagine the word "choochy-face" being used). Nor did it flinch when I softly stroked behind its grey, fluffy ears. Instead it lay on its back and allowed me to feel the softness of its white belly fur and loudly purred in gratitude. In appreciation that my affections were returned, I opened a can of tuna which it hastily scoffed and left.

I didn't think anything of it at the time other than that it was a cosy exchange. A summer memory made and I had performed a good deed.

A few days later The Cat returned and we behaved like two long lost friends. There was mutual loving, petting and nuzzles. I gave it some more food, it noisily ate and we parted ways again.

The meetings soon became a daily occurrence and something I found myself looking forward to. The Cat had taken to coming into the house, napping on the sofa and didn't mind being put out for the night when I went to bed. My evenings were now gloriously cosy. The stresses of the day instantly dissolved when The Cat and I would curl up together to watch television in the evenings. In retrospect, I should have stopped to think whether The Cat - though apparently in need of food and affection - lived with someone else. But I didn't. That only came later.

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After a couple of months I bought a pet bed for The Cat to relax in and dedicated bowls for food and water. I would go to work, discover cat hair on my clothes and smile in anticipation of being together in the evenings. Photos of The Cat would appear on my social media. Colleagues at work would notice my online activity and ask, "How's your cat?" I would answer as if The Cat was mine, in denial about my new status as a catnapper.

Every time another new post would go up, a friend would regularly call me out in my comments: "IT'S NOT YOUR CAT."