I don’t love him and he doesn’t love me, which is unusual. It’s not unusual that I don’t love him, because I love no one and nothing any more. It’s unusual that he doesn’t love me. I’ve never before owned a cat that didn’t love me.
The idea of owning another animal has always disgusted me. It’s slavery, whether the other animal is human or not. I justify owning cats because every cat I’ve ever owned has come to me as a stray whom someone else abandoned. They’re domesticated pets, not wild animals. If I didn’t take them in, they’d die.
And they always expressed their gratitude by loving me. Or so it seemed.
What most people call love is the desire to own someone they imagine has or is something they want. I'm sure that's what inspired my feeling of disgust. I want everyone to have what they want, be free to love whom they want, even if it’s not me.