When you dream about having a serious relationship as a young girl, you dream with high expectations of what a fairy tale love would look like and how it would make you feel and change your life for the better. Then, as you grow older and start to mature, quickly realizing that fairy tale relationships are a joke, you desperately hope that you can at least find yourself in a stable relationship built on unconditional love. That’s not too much to ask for, right?

I became adamant on finding this kind of simple, reasonable relationship in the near future; however, what I got was quite the opposite. I am now in a “relationship” that is, quite frankly, unstable and situational. He loves me on his own terms and can sometimes treat me in a brutal, barbaric manner. He’s not what I would consider the “Prince Charming” that I have so longed for, but he, Dexter, is my world.

I got my cat, Dexter, only two short years ago, but he has quite literally changed my life. I never imagined that I would end up being that “crazy cat lady,” but he does fill a void in my single life that apparently no man can do at this time (cool). Although I love that damn cat relentlessly, the feeling is obviously not mutual. This sad truth may be common knowledge to most of my fellow cat owners out there, but Dexter is my first cat among a history of loving dogs, and his hatred toward me is something I never expected. Before getting a cat, I was warned with all of the stereotypes: “They hate people,” “they judge you,” “they decide when and where you can pet them,” “they are in control” and “they are assholes.” Even with the warnings, I still maintained an optimism that Dexter would be different; yet, my optimism quickly diminished as I found out that the stereotypes are actually quite true.

In this new “relationship” with my cat, I find myself back in my middle school years playing the game of “he loves me, he loves me not.” Just like in middle school, the answer will never be truthfully found, and I will still feel confused in the end. Here is the game of love that I play now (with a stinkin’ cat!) at the age of 22:

• He loves me: I wake up in the morning, and Dexter rubs his head against my ankles, purring.
• He loves me not: Oh, he was just doing that so I would give him food.
• He loves me: Dexter curls up next to me on the couch.
• He loves me not: But I sure as hell can’t pet him.
• He loves me: Dexter looks at me with his loving, big eyes.
• He loves me not: Nope, those are not loving eyes. He is preparing to attack my ankles.
• He loves me: Awe, he is coming into my room to sleep next to me!
• He loves me not: I guess he is just going to lay on my face until I wake up and get him food.
• He loves me: Dexter lays on his back so that I can scratch his tummy.
• He loves me not: Oops, I scratched the wrong part of his tummy and now he is gnawing on my hand.
• He loves me: Dexter is so excited that I am back from Europe
• He loves me not: He is literally pushing my face away with his paw.
• He loves me: He is putting his paws around my leg to hug me!
• He loves me not: He is putting his paws around my leg to bite my ankle.
• He loves me: He is running towards me!
• He loves me not: He is actually running to my dad.

Seems like the games never end, even as an adult. This conditional relationship is not where I hoped I would be at 22, but I guess it will work because “he loves me” ... I think.