text: It’s 7:00pm, and like clockwork, Coco trots up to G, with her gray feather duster tail raised high, and cocks her tiny head expectantly. Coco has never been a patient cat. As she saw it, the world functioned according to her schedule. Who else is there to worry about? G was her entire world, so she assumed she was his too. And she wasn't far off with that assumption. “I know it’s time, baby cat, just one second.” He continues to type furiously with his left hand while reaching down to give Coco a quick scratch between the ears with his right to let her know he sees her, and he hears her. Coco feels reassured, but won’t let him forget she’s still waiting for him. Moments later, Coco starts making the calculations to take her valiant leap onto the desk, presenting herself squarely in front of G’s computer screen. She wouldn’t block much of the desktop if it weren’t for her puffy gray fur that always looked like she just came from an unfortunate run-in with a child who just learned about static electricity and wanted to test out some balloon magic. She might look like a large cat, but G swears she’s 75% fur. G is just finishing up writing his code, so he doesn’t appreciate the break in concentration. But this is what he signed up for when he adopted Coco. He never understood why people would get so upset with their pets for climbing on tables or scratching at furniture. To him, any so-called “bad behavior” was all part and parcel with pet ownership. It was easy for him to hold this opinion since Coco never had an affinity for chewing plastic, or really doing anything she wasn’t supposed to, for that matter. She liked to sit on the kitchen table, but her potentially dirty paws weren’t a deterrent to G, who usually ate at his desk and made a habit of kissing her paws ever since she was a kitten anyways. Her germs were no worse than the unknowable filth he encountered on the subway every day. Coco politely, but expectantly, lifts her white-mittened paw to G’s face as if to say, “it’s time, Dad.” With just a few more clicks, he gives in. “Ok, let’s go.” G sometimes needed to be pulled out of the trance he entered when he plopped into his office chair. He is an extremely self-motivated problem solver, and he loved how computers gave him the opportunity to solve even the most complex puzzles. During his most intense bouts of hyper-focus, hours felt like minutes. G scoops up Coco under his arm, grabs the heavy-duty pet brush from the closet, and carries her to the designated spot on the living room carpet. Only one room away in his 900 square-foot apartment, G follows the trace of his daily path on the carpet, which is slightly less flattened near the walls compared to the center line, where it’s padded down almost entirely. Coco loves the carpet because, as she’s learned, things can get very slippery on a freshly mopped tile floor. Coco knows what she’s in for and starts purring immediately. Cats like Coco require daily brushing to tame the iconic mane that G’s friends love to compliment. Her fur easily tangles, especially on her hindquarters, making it harder for her to clean after doing her business. The long fur on her chest dips down into her water bowl. Although it’s not the most sanitary, G does not reconsider allowing her on the kitchen table. Plus, Coco loves to groom herself, which is basically like taking a bath. But self-grooming so much long, loose fur is a recipe for hairballs. Again, sanitation is not a priority in this home. Through years of attempting distinct solutions to each problem, G found that brushing her daily solved all of them at once. He was usually able to brush away approximately two kitten-sized balls of fur from her with each brushing session. Brushing was satisfying for Coco, therapeutic for G, and it only took a few minutes. After all, grooming is one of our most primitive instincts as mammals. Every mammal bonds with their offspring by grooming. It’s a way of building trust and healthy attachment, and it’s functional. G had a routine that left no patch ungroomed. He starts with the back left for 5 brushes, back right for 5 brushes, tummy left and right (5 brushes each), rump left and right (5 brushes each), neck (5 brushes total). Coco gets hand-fed a treat in between each of these self-defined quadrants. She purrs the entire time. When the routine is complete, G takes the furball from the brush, marvels at his work, and wonders how many hairballs he’s saved Coco from before throwing it in the trash. Then, Coco returns to one of her 3 beds. This time, it was the Christmas-themed one even though it was the middle of June. She grooms herself to correct any part of her fur she feels is out of place. G refills his water glass, takes a big swig, and then returns to the computer. G has never missed a brushing session, partially because Coco’s unmatched circadian rhythms would never let him forget. G has a simple and a solid job. He cares most about spending quality time with his family and friends, including Coco. When it’s the end of a long day and he’s feeling overwhelmed, the brushing routine reminds him to slow down. He checks his heart rate on his Apple Watch, a habit he probably does more frequently than necessary, and notices a dip back to resting rate after he sits back down. They say taking care of a living being is good for you, and G would agree. Sometimes, the five-minute mental break reminds him to look out the window, or to cook dinner, or simply got him out of the rut of working, gaming, or getting sucked into an internet rabbit-hole. Those sacred few minutes gave them both peace, and they returned to their assigned seats feeling calmed and accomplished.