8 Signs You Are Actually A Cat


1. Your default setting is “retreat.”

Walk up to the club like *squints eyes suspiciously and stays in a safe little corner whilst sipping a drink and judging everyone else in the immediate vicinity.* There is no other way for you to be, and to pretend to be the fearless social butterfly would be impossible. You are just always in that bitchface-laden state of jaded hesitation. You’re not sure this scene is for you, or if you’re going to like these new people, so the best course of action is to be all slitty-eyed and reclusive until your emotional whiskers brush against enough things to declare it okay to proceed.

2. You dole your affection out in measured, almost spiteful doses.

When the Divine Mood strikes you and you have decided your love is something you want to spread around like frosting, or a venereal disease, you will give it out. You will shower the people you care about with small rainstorms of overly-emotional Gchats and compliments which are so flattering/earnest as to border on the terrifying. But then the inspiration ceases, and you retreat back into your perfect, frigid chamber of emotional solitude. And you will not emerge again until you decide to.

3. You frequently hide from everyone for no reason.

Your roommate is having some friends over. In theory, you like these friends. They are cool people, and you have enjoyed your time with them in the past. But even the idea of seeing people who aren’t your own reflection in the mirror or the pizza delivery guy for 15 seconds is unimaginable. And so you become that “weird roommate” who doesn’t even come out to have a beer or something, who just stays in their room and plays around on their computer. And you are happy to be said roommate.

4. No one is ever really sure if you like them.

While you are aware of your chronic case of Resting Bitchface, you don’t actually hate most people. But a good majority of the people you meet are left with that initial impression. They walk away wondering if they said something to offend, when really you were just being your perfectly diplomatic self, and not coating every thought in a syrupy layer of false flattery. Or at least, that’s how you choose to view it.

5. You are very picky about how you are touched.

An everyday hug can take a careening ride off the Pleasant Plateau into the Get the Fuck Off of Me Gorge, and you’re never even sure what brings it on. You just seem to have an extremely finite tolerance for physical contact, and can easily be rubbed the wrong way, at which point your whole body will shut down and grow a shiny coat of invisible prickles which repel human touch from every direction. Unless said person is sexy and you are interested in them, in which case, you are just here to be petted for hours on end.

6. You are at your nicest when there is free food.

It’s magical. You are radiating your usual stink lines of reservation and judgment, when all of a sudden someone even passingly mention something that sounds like a food, and you transformed into a beauty pageant contestant. There are going to be fresh donuts. Cupcakes. Subs from the deli downstairs. Hell, a bowl with a can of Pringles emptied into it and a two-liter of Sprite. It’s all good. There is food coming, and you can sense it, and you’re not going to have to pay for it — this is the best life is ever going to get.

7. You frequently change your mind for no apparent reason.

You are really digging this bar! Your vibe is most definitely on, and you are feeling these grooves! What cool people you are surrounded by! Oh, wait, nope, you hate society in general and you particularly hate this stupid bar with these unfortunate people. You must retreat to your apartment post haste to complain about it on the internet from the security of your crumb-laden blanket. Sorry. (Not sorry.)

8. Your favorite activity is sleeping.

To be honest, you’re not even that embarrassed to admit it. When you think about all of the awesome things you’re going to do this upcoming weekend, the top spot on your list is always clearly reserved for sprawling out on your bed like a pajama-clad skydiver and not moving for upwards of 12 hours at a time. You’re gonna just fall asleep whenever the fuck you want and chill out in the sun until you wake up all disoriented, only to go to sleep three hours later if you so choose. It is your greatest vice, and your sweetest lover. And if you’re such a dickweasel throughout the work week, it’s because you are being deprived your sweet nectar of the narcoleptics. It’s not your fault, you just wanna chill out in the fetal position for a while. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

Chelsea Fagan founded the blog The Financial Diet. She is on Twitter.

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