Maybe I was a cat in my past life, that's why I am always related to cats in this life. I love animals: cats, dogs, chickens, ducks, elephants, tigers, lions... but I simply love cats. I love touching their silky smooth fur; I love to hear them purr when I stroke them; I love looking at their sparkling big round eyes; their wiry tails, their long thin whiskers, and their pointy ears. I just love them, as long as they are cats, regardless of its breeds; no matter what colours their are, I just want to hold them.
Maybe I was a cat, as friends tell me that I resemble a cat, and some even say that my eyes are like cat's. I am not scared to be like a cat, to be able to do as I like, with lots of freedom too. They are dirty yet don't mind being laughed at; they are lazy yet they don't care. They will curl up their body and sleep in the corner, enjoying the moment. Time can't make them go fast, slow or be lazy, they move at their own pace. If they see a prey, they will creep up and pounce on it. But if they see their enemy, they will run away. If they meet the people they don't like, they will avoid them.
Maybe, I really resemble a cat. Ever since I was growing up, cats loves to come close to me (because I am like them?). When they are hungry, they will meow at me; when they want some attention, they will come around my ankle and rub themselves against my legs; when they want to take a nap, they will jump into my arms cradle; when they want to sleep at night, they will cross the roof into my room. Then, they will lie down on my bed, give a few purrs and fall asleep.
From my memory, I had a lot of cats, a white cat, a black cat, a yellow cat, a black and brown cat, a spotted cat, a tiger stripped cat ... but when they appear, they appear at different times. When the white left, the black came; when the black disappeared, the yellow appeared. They left, they never came back. They may have been captured; they may have gone back to the wilderness; they may have found a new master. They never tell me, and never hint to me. The elderly tell me that when a cat leaves, it will never come back. But I don't believe that, and await for their return every night, but I will believe this until the next cat appears.
Now, I don't have a cat anymore, I am afraid of the loneliness when they leave; the quietness when they leave; and the boredom that haunts me when they leave. Maybe it's because of me that they are missing, captured or killed. Because of their beauty; because I have spoiled them.
Even though I don't have cat anymore, cats still appear before my eyes, cats from the streets, other people's cats, they just love to come to me. They love to tease me, meowing away. They love to sleep in my cradling arms.
Maybe I was really a cat, and at that time, they had already known me. And wait for me in this lifetime. When I am lonely, they know, they will appear by my side respectively, and when the time comes, they'll disappear again, respectively.