My Friend, the Angry “Transphobic” Cat
But at least she’s luck-neutral!
Seven is not my cat. Seven is my roommate’s cat. Born the runt of her litter, she’s a tiny thing and her limbs are all a little thin and stringy for her body. She’s all black, with only a few hairs on her chest sprouting in white. This is where her name comes from. Black cats are said to be unlucky, and seven is a lucky number. Boom. A luck-neutral cat.
Seven is also a transphobe, we’ve collectively decided, though her feelings about members of other people in the LGBTQ community are still up for debate.
When we put up the nonbinary and trans flags on our dining room wall, Seven raced over to the trans flag and tried desperately to claw it down, stretching as tall as she could on her back feet. She still hasn’t touched the nonbinary flag, which is only a few inches away, and there’s really no reason that we can think of for her to so angrily attack that flag. No one slipped and spilled tuna on it. She simply hates it.
Our other anecdote focuses on the now-destroyed trans-unicorn squeaky toy. It was a dog toy, and Seven never showed any interest in squeaky toys. She barely showed interest in cat toys. I knew when I bought the pink-and-blue Pride unicorn that I was buying it for myself, not her. But before I had even taken it out of the packaging she’d chomped down on it and was kicking at it with a vitriol I had never seen her display with any other toy. I could barely remove it from her mouth just to cut it out of its zip-ties.
Badges, socks, and all other things in trans colors aren’t safe from her. As for the people? Well, as long as you don’t piss her off too much, she will tolerate you. She might even climb into your lap and fall asleep purring (but touch her and you’re dead). Perhaps she’s resigned to the fact that about 80–90% of the people who enter her home are unapologetically, extremely gay. Perhaps that’s why she has such an enraged expression constantly displayed on her face.
Or perhaps she’s simply a cat who hates pink, white, and blue stripes. But it is very funny to invite someone over, have them observe Seven glowering at them, and then give them the strange response, “Oh, don’t mind her, she’s working through some personal issues.”
There’s more for me to connect animals to transness aside from Seven’s strange aversion to trans symbols. I’ve always loved animals, and especially during my transition, I found refuge in them. I used to work in a daycare, and though I loved the work, being trans in that environment put me under so much stress I could hardly function when I got home, all to do it over again with my family. After I lost the job due to 2020 quarantine, my mom suggested I work with animals.
“No one can accuse you of brainwashing their dog,” she said.
It was a very good suggestion.
In July of that year, I started work in a dog daycare, and it was heaven. A little loud, stinky, and stressful sometimes, but heaven nonetheless. It was my first job where I could be out as a trans dude, the first job where I was just “the new guy.”
And the dogs didn’t care. The dogs were just happy to hang out with me. It didn’t matter to them what hair I had or how I spoke or what name I went by and if it was my legal one or what bathroom I used, they chased me around when I blew bubbles and rushed up to me for pets. They didn’t judge me. They didn’t give me odd looks or repeat my name a million times in a questioning candor, they simply enjoyed my company.
Animals simply love unconditionally. Perhaps that’s why so many people are drawn to them, aside from them being cute, cuddly, etc etc. In queer communities in particular, it can mean so much to find someone, anyone, who can love you unfailingly and without prejudice. Pets see that you are you. Pet look into your soul, and they love what they see.
Seven has just finished her dinner and is bathing herself in the corner. If I come up and pet her, she’ll bite the shit out of me, but if I give her a few minutes, she’ll probably curl up beside my laptop. She sleeps in my bed almost every night, the grumpy friend of everyone in the household.
I love this silly little angry creature.
Even if she undoubtedly will shred my flag.
This story is a response to the Prism & Pen writing prompt, Queer Family Pets: Comfort During Calamity?