A love letter to my emotional support cat, Winona


Lucia Cheng

Lucia and Winona sharing an intimate gaze.

Lucia Cheng, News Editor

To my stinky, chonky, attention whore of a furbaby (affectionately),

You have turned me into a white suburban mother, and I have accepted my fate willingly. I count the time you’ve stuck by me in months, like a toddler. I lovingly tie off each poopy pet bag every night. My dorm neighbors think I’m insane from the baby talk that spews from my room. And I have to admit, even though you are a pervert who likes to watch dirty deeds happen from the windowsill, I would choose you over any partner to have by my side (but it would also be cool if you could stop staring, though).

Winona, the cat, sitting in a drawer.
Winona in her natural habitat. (Lucia Cheng)

Even though I probably exacerbate your abandonment issues by leaving the room each day – like mother, like daughter – I always hate closing the door on your big ol’ golden eyes. I would much rather spend the day spooning your above-average primordial pouch. You make my room feel less lonely. You remind me that love can be found anywhere. Quite loudly actually, when you yell at me to scratch you behind the ears when I come home. I want to lift you up by the armpits on the tallest mountain in the world and scream about how you’ve saved my life – and then set you down straight afterwards because I know you don’t like being held. My beautiful, intrepid explorer. You deserve everything. I love you so, so much.

Extra tube of tuna tonight.


Your equally stinky, silly mother