The problem with a kitten is that eventually it becomes a cat—Ogden Nash

Forget da Vinci, DiCaprio, and Ninja Turtles, Leonardo is a cat. In fact, Leonardo is the three-month-old quirky kitten that lives with me. He is the only man in the house and he watches over us four women. Lauren and I are frequently greeted by Leo’s majesty as we enter our fifth-floor apartment home—he’ll often sit upright and attentive as he waits for us at the front door.

Now, I don’t want you to think that Leonardo is some flawless knight in furry armor. Au contraire, he is feisty, mischievous, and sometimes downright obnoxious. When one enters the country of Chile, one pays a reciprocity fee, obtains a passport stamp, and receives a ninety-day tourist visa which one must maintain on one’s person at all times. While moving in, Lauren had her tiny, yellow tourist visa among a collection of other papers. She once saw Leonardo playing with the yellow paper and thought nothing of it. Later that day, she realized that Leo had been playing with a paper that she was 1. Supposed to have with her at all times and 2. Needed in order to exit the country. After turning the room and then the house upside down with my and Cecilia’s assistance, we determined that the paper truly was lost. Fortunately it was free to replace at the police station. However, Leonardo and Lauren’s relationship has been rocky to downright frigid ever since. Lauren is convinced that Leo masked his mal intentions in a guise of kitten playfulness—perhaps he really is a ninja.

Not only does Leonardo hide his true intentions, but he is an excellent hider and he waits ever so patiently. He continually catches me off guard. Three times now, I have been in a bit of a rush and pulled my suitcase out from under my bed to grab something out of it only to be greeted by an outstretched paw and tiny, but razor sharp claws, of none other than Leonardo. One of his favorite spots to plot and sleep is the in hammock-esque cloth of my suitcase.

In addition to his ninjutsu skillz, Leonardo is an attention whore. He likes to be fawned over and admired. He likes to be pet and adored. He likes to be bathed in warm water with soft soap. If you do not obey Leo’s wishes, you will suffer the wrath of an angry kitten. While this has not (and hopefully will not) manifest itself in the form of territorial spraying, this vexation demonstrates itself in the several ways. The first in the form of loud and persistent meowing. When Lauren and I walk in the door in the wee hours of the morning, it is not our turning the key, opening the door, or quite shuffling to our respective rooms that we fear will awaken Cecilia, Danielle, and Catalina. Rather, it’s Leonardo’s demanding meow that is the most likely disruptive force. Leo is particularly aggressive when Lauren or I are wearing our boots. Perhaps it is the leather, but he meows, pounces, and attacks with admirable, but loud persistence. Additionally, I sleep with my door closed and, I don’t know how, but as soon as I wake up, Leo can sense it and he’ll begin to cry at my door—what a whiney prince. And, when Lauren was taking a shower one evening, he was quite insistent on gaining the attention of a person whom he knew to be awake. He literally threw himself at the door time and again. A few times he reached up with his paws with the clear intentions of turning the knob. Lauren thought it was Cecilia banging at the door (which would so be out of character for Cecilia) and so she sped her showering process a bit. Cecilia has a friend who told me that if she had a cat who meowed as much as Leonardo, she might accidentally toss him out the window.

Another way Leonardo will try to secure attention is by distracting me from my tasks. If I am reading or writing, he will attempt to vanquish the interruption by eating it—several of my books and pens have Leo teeth marks. Apparently the task of sleeping is not even safe from Leonardo’s attempts at love and affection. He will play with my hair, gently bat my face, and climb over me. I have found that lying unnaturally still can sometimes deter him. However, when I really want to sleep I’ll toss him the hallway and close the door. Thank God I’m bigger than he is.