Ah, yes. The time has finally come to show my true colors. I now get to bombard you with my love for feline companions, or masters, as I lovingly refer to them.

For background purposes, you should know that I currently have three cats: a 12-year-old female Calico (Camry), a 4-year-old, 18-pound domestic male kitter with a mustache (Liberty), and a 6-month-old tailless male ginger kitten (Weasley). Before I got Weasley, my boyfriend and I fostered 2-year-old twin gray cats named Luna and Nova. So over the past year, we’ve collectively had five different cats.

Everyone who knows me knows not to bring up cats unless they have at least an hour of time to spend listening to me detail the events of the morning … and the past year.

I am a slave to these cades. They have made me their b—-, and I have completely accepted it. Did I mention I am allergic to cats? My brother is more allergic than I and cannot step foot in my apartment without having an asthma attack. Sorry, Ben, but my kitters need me.

So there is something I need you to know if you hate cats: You’re probably unworthy of even basking in their majestic presence, and they certainly don’t like you either.

Honestly, I’m not sure if the kitters like anyone. I feel like I’m merely being tolerated by my housemates.

Well, I know Weasley likes me because he hasn’t stopped purring since I got him from the humane society. But Camry, she f—— hates my guts. I could be approaching her with a full can of tuna and she would still hiss at me. It’s almost as if she’s saying, “Put the can down and walk away, peasant.” And because I am a slave to her every whim, I do as much.

One thing Camry does enjoy is sunbathing. This is probably an attempt on her part to warm her icy veins, which are a side effect of her cold heart.

Liberty, on the other hand, loves to rub his face on me, which originally led me to believe that I had been accepted into his inner sanctum. But then he started clawing at my head in the middle of the night while simultaneously chewing on my hair. This has since led to me believe he would eat me if I died. So I’m a bit iffy about our relationship now.

Liberty is indoor-outdoor, so occasionally he will reward my service with a pair of baby rabbit feet or a live mouse that he decides belongs in our mutual presence.

This morning, he started licking my face when I woke up. When I proceeded to get out of bed to go to the bathroom, I found him licking Weasley’s butt in the kitchen. But a cat’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s, right?

Weasley is my nicest cat, and it’s because he’s a vulnerable little baby who has yet to discover his strength. He has completely ruined my $3,000 leather sectional, but he’s so cute! Couches are replaceable but Weasley’s continuous love is not.

This may seem like complaining but I feel honored to even receive these beauties’ attention on a day-to-day basis. And plus, what else am I going to cuddle with? A slobbery dog? Dream on.