Tchacha·
a small chronicle of a very particular cat
about
Tchacha arrived on a rainy Tuesday, looked around the apartment for exactly eleven seconds, and decided she lived here now. That was three years ago. She has not once reconsidered.
She is mostly black, with a patch of white under her chin that looks like a spilled drop of milk, and she has opinions about almost everything — doors, the relative merits of cardboard versus wicker, the precise hour the sun ought to reach the rug.
daily schedule
- 06:12 — wakes the household (non-negotiable)
- 07:00 — loafs on the windowsill
- 10:30 — supervises remote work
- 14:00 — afternoon collapse, usually on something important
- 19:20 — dramatic sprint from one end of the hallway to the other
- 22:00 — polite request for a second dinner
preferences
Boxes, in general. The sound of a kettle. Tall grass. Paper bags with handles (the handles specifically). Being addressed politely.
Not a fan of: thunder, the vacuum, citrus, being ignored for longer than four minutes, and one particular dog who lives on the third floor.