Rambo, a Contented and Easygoing Cat

Last May Day, my son suddenly asked to buy a cat, so at a flower-bird-fish market at the foot of Zizhu Bridge we bought him a golden shaded British Shorthair kitten—the very one he had spotted at first glance in the market. It looked adorably chubby; my son held it and played with it for a while and could not bear to put it down. Afterward we wandered through several shops and let him choose more carefully, but he kept thinking of this cat and refused any other. So, following the child's wish, we bought it.

Because we bought it on May Day, my son suggested naming it after the English word for Labor Day, "labour." The pronunciation sounds a bit like "Rambo," the protagonist of the movie First Blood, played by the famous action star Sylvester Stallone. First Blood was the first movie I ever saw in my life; when I was in primary school, the school organized us to watch a film in the village hall, and it was First Blood, so my memory of that movie, of Rambo, and of Stallone is very vivid. I suggested we simply call the cat Rambo, and the name stuck.

The Rambo played by Stallone is a veteran, an iron-boned tough guy who can take on an entire unit by himself, whereas our cat is a very cuddly, cute little thing. Linking the two is inherently humorous. But that is precisely the joy of life: every harmless absurdity brings people a great deal of pleasure.

Before Rambo, I had kept dogs but never a cat. Had my son not wanted a cat, I think I would still not have one. Before getting a cat, I had no idea how interesting such a pet could be. My son knew I like dogs, so when we decided at the pet market to buy a pet, he said, "Dad probably prefers dogs; why don't we get a dog?" The child is very considerate; he thinks about the feelings of other family members. But I more wanted to fulfill his wish, so in the end we bought the cat he loved.

When we first brought Rambo home, he was very timid and always liked to hide under the bed. He also had a bit of ringworm, which he passed to my son, who developed a patch too. The seller said the ringworm was caused by stress, but in retrospect, we were inexperienced and had not noticed that Rambo already had a patch of ringworm on his ear at the market. Since we had bought him, we made the best of it; everything is fate. We believed heaven had arranged for us to bond with Rambo, and having adopted him, we had to treat his ringworm properly. Treatment was not complicated; after about half a month of external and internal medication, all of Rambo's ringworm was gone. The patch on my son cleared up after a few days of Jin Daikening (miconazole cream).

After a week or two, Rambo warmed up to us; he no longer always hid under the bed but loved to play with us. Pet cats are truly among the most carefree creatures on earth—never worrying about food or drink, sleeping wherever they please when tired. Anything at home that catches his fancy becomes a toy: a plastic bag, a bottle cap, a watermelon—he can play happily with any of them, and we enjoy watching him play. His favorite playmate, of course, is his owner; as long as the owner is willing to tease him, he can play with us endlessly, untiringly.

A month later, Rambo began to show clear dependence and trust in me. The reason is simple: I spend the most time at home, and feeding him cat food and water, scooping his litter, and bathing him are basically my jobs. When I read or work, he comes over and naps on my desk or my lap. When I type away loudly on the keyboard, he comes over and paws at the keys with me. He often tugs at my trouser leg to express his various needs: food, water, or companionship. When I am in a bad mood and stroke him, he stays by me gently; such companionship is truly enough to heal everything.

Raising a cat and raising a child have much in common; both bring endless joy, but a cat is far cheaper than a child. Rambo costs only two or three hundred yuan a month; the very ordinary cat litter and food I buy are enough for this little fellow, and he is not picky. Except for the first month, when he had ringworm and a cold once, Rambo has been very healthy, with no further illness, so there has been no need to spend money on his medical care.

Now Rambo has become one of our family's important members. My son's cousin has been eyeing this cat and wants to take Rambo away. My son, usually so generous, flatly refused, saying: "Steal my cat—can you believe she'd even think of it! How ridiculous. Not giving him up!" This is the most decisive refusal I have ever seen from the child; he used to be generous and easygoing, giving up any toy to his younger siblings whenever they asked.

Rambo has clearly also taken our home as his cozy den. He has no dedicated cat bed; the bed, the sofa, stools, the top of the bookcase, the floor, the yoga mat—everywhere is a cat bed where he can nod off at any time. His sleeping postures are wonderfully varied, but whichever one he falls asleep in, it is both endearing and enviable. Asleep, Rambo is utterly relaxed; that easygoing, contented feline attitude is plain on his face.

Rambo is also the glue of our family. Since he entered the house, interaction among family members has increased a great deal. As children grow up, they share fewer common topics with their parents, but after Rambo arrived, things changed. We sometimes play with the cat together, teasing and bantering in the process, and the parent-child relationship has grown warmer. My wife is enormously envious of Rambo's lifestyle and often openly declares that in her next life she wants to be reborn as a pet cat, specifying that I be the one to raise her, the way I raise Rambo.

A cat's IQ is about that of a human child, and cats are not lacking in empathy. Pet cats and dogs do not harm their owners; the occasional scratch is just a moment of carelessness. In that respect, cats are even better than the human friends we make. I now increasingly understand why people like Zhang Zhidong and Ji Xianlin ultimately became "cat slaves": cat companions are truly sincere, gentle, and forever loyal to their owners. I myself am now a thorough cat slave.

Rambo is good to us too. Although he likes to sit by the window watching the scenery outside every day, he never runs off. Once I forgot to close the screen window and Rambo went out onto the ledge; not noticing, I shut the window. Rambo could not get in and meowed outside for a long time, but he did not jump down or run into someone else's house; he waited for us to discover him and bring him back. Another time he slipped out the front door; we did not notice and he was locked outside for half a morning. When I found out, I called his name and searched the whole house, until I heard him meowing outside the door. I quickly opened it; he had been waiting right there the whole morning for us to let him in.

Rambo is not standoffish either. When I come home, he always trots happily to the door to greet me, expressing his love with all sorts of affectionate gestures. When I move around the house, he follows at my heels. When I exercise on the stationary bike, he plays games at my feet to amuse me. With him, I feel I have gained a close friend who asks little of me yet is never far from my side.

Rambo has made me realize that, as members of the mammal kingdom, we can actually live so freely and comfortably. We always think of ourselves as higher intelligent animals, smarter than cats and dogs, but in our attitude toward life we are far behind them. Apart from seeking a full belly, Rambo wants nothing; that self-sufficient feline attitude is one many people envy but cannot learn. Rambo spends a great deal of time playing, so most of his life is interesting and happy. His feline existence is so carefree and at ease—by what right do we humans claim he is less wise than we are?