Meet the Napper

What's to say about this cat? I like her; she's mine.

Soma's a black market cat. I got her in June of 2002 from a girl who was moving to Texas. She worked in a cavernous indie pop venue called the Black Cat, where shaggy emos drink cheap beer and brood with the dedication of old men. The girl was driving cross-country and posted this ad on Craigslist:

YOU WANT MY CAT.

And I did. I had always wanted a cat.* If it hadn't been for my three older brothers and their assortment of cats, dogs, hamsters, parrots, lizards, snakes, and fish, I might have had one. But my parents had grown wise over the years and refused to take responsibility for one more animal. Now that I was living on my own, free of beleaguered folks and allergic roommates, I was in the market for a pet.

The only problem was, my apartment had a no-pets policy. Even though it went unenforced, and many of the building's occupants were furry, I knew it wouldn't pass a Humane Society inspection. I had to find my cat on the street. Thus, like so many others before me, I turned to the internet and arranged a blind date.

I first met Soma on a park bench in Dupont Circle. The girl had brought her in a crate, which she held on her lap as I craned my head to peer inside. I saw terrified blue eyes in a white face.

She had the coloring of a Siamese with the racing stripes of a tabby, like a snow leopard crossed with a raccoon.

The girl explained she had taken Soma in when she was a six-week stray and had turned up on her doorstep one day. She spent most of her time sleeping - as if healing - which was why they had named her Soma. After the drug in Brave New World. Now she was six months old. She liked to be scratched along her jaw. Did I want her?

I took her home.

She hid from me for three days behind the couch. If I lay on the floor with my arm outstretched between the wall and the couch, I could just touch her with a finger. She was a living, breathing presence in my home - exotic, yet comforting. We were intensely aware of one another. I decided to leave her alone for a few days and spent the weekend in New York.

I had only been back for a few hours when she suddenly emerged from behind the couch. Hello. She took a sniff and began to explore.

She's a "plopper" - that is, she doesn't cuddle so much as fall heavily against you. Most nights I have to fight her for space on the pillow. It's a losing battle since she's mostly made of air; she compresses easily. She sleeps on my head and lets me play games unworthy of a cat's dignity, including Moon Bounce, Airplane, Gravity Pants and "The Shake Down."

She's seen me through 6 roommates, 5 apartments, 4 birthdays, 3 boyfriends, 2 LSATs, and 1 city. She greets me when I come home and wakes me up in the morning. She's been called Soma, Somie, Somington, and Selma by various roommates. Friends, male and female, swear she's "the only cat I like." I think I'll keep her.

*As I mentioned, I always wanted a cat. Here are a few reasons why: