Screenshot: Petfinder

Finding the inspiration to muddle through and around life’s various slings and arrows is, at times, difficult. Mistaking aspiration for inspiration is a fool’s errand, for the two are inextricably linked but obviously different. In my endless quest for this elusive feeling, I think I have finally found a match: Perdita, a salty-ass rescue cat in North Carolina who has done life’s hard work of establishing clear and present boundaries.

Perdita, brought to my attention by the quiet geniuses at People’s animal vertical, is a black and white angel with a permanent sourpuss and an independent streak who is in need of a forever home. The Petfinder listing’s description of Perdita is a tidy summation of her wants, needs, and desires, so much so that it deserves your full attention.

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Please regard below (emphasis mine):

Meet Perdita, not for the faint of heart. LIKES: staring into your soul until you feel as if you may never be cheerful again; the song Cat Scratch Fever, the movie Pet Cemetery (Church is her hero), jump scares (her specialty), lurking in dark corners, being queen of her domicile, fooling shelter staff into thinking she’s sick (vet agrees...she’s just a jerk) DISLIKES: the color pink, kittens (yuk they are so chipper), dogs, children, the Dixie Chicks, Disney movies, Christmas and last but NOT least...HUGS. She’s single and ready to be socially awkward with a socially awkward human who understands personal space. FREE ADOPTION ;)

Some might see a new feline avatar ready to step into the spotlight recently abandoned by Grumpy Cat and also Lil Bub—an animal upon which we can project our uncomfortable feelings of needing a moment to ourselves but also wanting to be loved. This makes sense, but also, it doesn’t? Perdita clearly isn’t here for your shit, because there’s a truck out back that is full to the brim of her own, metpahorically and otherwise. What I see is a creature who has mastered the fine art of setting and establishing boundaries and refusing to budge. Sure, there’s a hint of emotional anguish lying under this description, and I’d like to hope against hope that Perdita’s sleep face is not the rictus of displeasure as seen above. She’s just like us, ahh, yes, the cat. She’s me. I strive for this clarity every day and I have found it in her.

Managing Editor, Jezebel

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