The pet I’ll never forget: Jessica Fostekew on Conrad the cat, ‘who stares, repulsed, when I have sex’
I had several memorable pets as a child. There was my first cat, Muffin, who startled and fled, never to return, at the sound of one of my dad’s farts. There was the goldfish family I won at a fair, into whose tank my baby cousin tipped an entire tub of fish flakes. I discovered the fish half an hour later, after they had all eaten themselves to death. Occasionally, I get hangovers that make me want to try to do the same thing.
But Conrad, one of my two current cats – he is the pet I’ll never forget.
Four years ago, I met my girlfriend.
We both had baggage. I had one child, human. She had two, feline: one wild, glamorous, ramshackle maine coon called Cleo whose striking looks and eccentricity get all the attention; and then Conrad, or Connie to friends. A black and white boy famous for his big emotions, he is a lover anda fighter.
My partner loves these cats too much; I do need to add that. She would wear them in a papoose and feed them from her own beak if she could. When they die, she will most certainly get tattoos of their faces on her own.
I’ve got a much more “secure-avoidant” attachment style with pets, so initially Conrad was wary. We didn’t get off to a seamless start, but what relationship between step-parent and child does? He would pee on all my towels and appear whenever my partner and I had sex to sit rudely close and stare, repulsed.
But he soon realised that living with me had its perks. Finally: someone who prioritised meals with the same vigour he did. Also, my house came with Conrad’s first garden. Having previously been an indoor cat, he soon discovered his appetite for adventure – although it remains something for which he is totally ill-equipped.
He once got stuck in the neighbour’s garden – I only realised when I heard a series of loud thuds. It was Conrad body-slamming the fence, cannoning himself higher and higher. The neighbours had a dog, so the stakes were as high as the fence. Finally, to my huge relief, he catapulted himself back to his own dogless turf, looking just as surprised as I did.
We are inseparable now – but I have also learned that he is very weird. He meows after he has had a poo in a way that truly sounds as if he is shouting: “Hello!”
I thought cats were meant to be aloof, but he is incredibly intense. As I type this, his face is just centimetres from my own. Most days, he climbs on to my shoulders to gently chomp, scratch and groom my hair. He lies across my arms with his cat-arms cuddled around my hands. If I lie on my
back, anywhere, he will be laid out across my front within moments, nose to nose, his whiskers tickling my mouth and eyes. Deeply loving, deeply unhelpful. I can’t work out if he thinks I am his mum, his dad, his lover or just the person who drops the most food. I love it, but it’s a lot. I will never forget Conrad, not because he is dead, but because he is relentlessly, gloriously here.