My first cat reminds me of myself

 I have always wanted a cat, my own cat-- for my whole life.

Or at least as far as I can remember. It has to me 20 years.

I wanted a cat that i can keep inside, with me.

I took this cat yesterday from my Aunt-- and he's an anxious one. He was hiding under the couch, panicking, refusing to eat and drink since yesterday. I asked a lot of people on how to handle an anxious cat: to conclude the only thing I had to do is to wait.

I am equally as anxious as he is, if not, even more anxious. It is sad seeing how sad, scared and tensed he looks and I almost gave up and texted my Uncle to send him back where he belong.

It just doesn't sit right with me to just give up. Being me, I just can't simply wait. He was hiding under the couch so I lift up the couch and drag him out, trying to give him reassurance that there's no other cat in this house waiting to pounce on him. He finally opened up, stretched, move his tail, groomed and ate (but still, no drink).

So this is him, finally getting out under the couch resting, finally being able to relax a bit with the help of doa, from a known-as-a-cat-hater, my mom.

Ain't he just like me, last year?