Aidan

San Francisco, California

SINNERS (2025)

They told me at the shelter he was twelve years old and “not very adoptable.” His face is lopsided, one ear flops weird, and he’s missing half his teeth so his tongue kind of hangs out permanently. The volunteer said he’d been returned twice already because people thought he looked “off,” and I stood there looking at this beat-up tuxedo cat thinking about how I’ve felt pretty unadoptable myself since my divorce. I’m 52 and I went in looking for a kitten, something cute and normal that my grandkids could play with when they visit, but this guy was sitting in the back corner wearing a little bow tie someone had put on him and I just couldn’t leave him there. His name was Gerald. They said he’d probably only have a year or two left and he’d need special food and monthly vet checkups. I took him home that afternoon and my sister said, “You adopted the Walmart clearance version of a cat,” which honestly made me love him more. Gerald has one speed and it’s judgmental. He sits on the cat tree by the window and stares at me like I’m failing an exam only he knows about. When I’m on the couch he jumps up and positions himself so he’s looking directly into my soul with those huge uneven eyes. My neighbor came over for coffee last week and actually got uncomfortable. She said, “Why is he looking at me like that? Does he know something I don’t?” I told her Gerald judges everyone equally. It’s his gift. I started making him different bow ties because the shelter one was getting ratty, and I found this amazing seller online who does custom pet accessories. I sent her Gerald’s measurements and now he’s got seven different ties, one for each day of the week. She told me she’d never made anything for a cat described as “permanently disappointed looking” before. People on my street started asking about them when I posted pictures, and I ended up opening my own little online shop selling pet bow ties and bandanas because apparently there’s a whole market for judgmental animal fashion. My daughter says Gerald looks like he’s perpetually asking to speak to the manager, and she’s not wrong. But here’s the thing—he sleeps on my chest every single night and purrs so loud it sounds like a motorcycle. When I had that terrible week last month where I couldn’t stop crying about everything, he didn’t leave my side. Just sat there staring at me with that crooked face like, “Yeah, life’s hard. Get it together.” I’ve had him for eight months now and the vet says he’s actually healthier than they expected. My grandkids named him Professor Whiskers because they think he looks wise. He’s become the neighborhood celebrity—people stop me on walks asking about “that cat with the face.” Gerald doesn’t care what anyone thinks. He just exists exactly as he is, taking up space, demanding respect. I’m trying to learn that from him. Credit - anonymous participant /Facebook

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