the wrong kind of pet cat

(parental…abuse?; dehumanization, objectification; Bad Feels)

today in therapy: figured out that my parents treat me like a pet cat.

you know. should just exist around the house for when you feel like it.

needs to be trapped in the house for its own good. eh it may go outside but it’ll come back eventually. it knows where it lives. where it grew up.  it’s never had anywhere else.

and look, there’s a basket of cat toys. ooo. what a good environment. no need to engage at all.

well, except to complain about the cats on the counters, going outside the appropriate lines. incorrigible little devils. good thing cat souls don’t go to hell

(oh, wait.)

but wow, we love this cat. when it leaves we miss it and call for it outside. when it comes back we ignore it completely, that’s how close we are, it’s just normal.

look at our beautiful family with our weird cat. it has issues sometimes but aren’t we so gracious to keep it. don’t we do so much for it.

…what?  feed it differently?  playtime?  nonsense.  it’s perfectly happy here with nothing to do.  just look at it.

ah, cats. such nice, easy pets.

(…mm. still very much stuck in horror-writing mode i see.)


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