My husband is loving, but I still feel insecure... because of my cat

Pets can really show how you're feeling inside. Like, my dad, he'd always say he was "fine" if you asked him how he was doing. But if you really wanted to know, you'd have to check on his dog. If the dog seemed down, then you knew something was up with my dad too. It's like what Freud talked about, this thing called projection. Basically, it's when you can't deal with a part of yourself, so you kind of dump it onto someone or something else, like a pet. My dad couldn't handle feeling vulnerable, so he'd pretend it was the dog who was feeling down, not him.

I mean, I hope I'm more aware of myself than that. I wouldn't want to put my issues onto my pet.

Kevin, our cat, showed up in our lives about two years ago. He was this tiny thing, like the size of a can of beer. But man, he had a big personality. He'd snuggle up to me at night, sometimes stretched out next to me, sometimes curled up under my arm. And in the evenings, he'd turn into this long furry snake, draped over your lap or wrapped around your legs. He was playful, loving, and just really good at being a cat.

We followed the advice from Battersea and kept Kevin indoors for a month when he first joined us. Then, we started letting him out with supervision until he knew his way back home. But when it was time for him to roam freely, getting a collar on him was a challenge. No matter how tight I made it, he always managed to wiggle out of it. Even if he left the house wearing one, he'd come back without it. Then, one day, he didn't come back at all.

The first time he went missing, he ended up at the Blacksmith and the Toffee Maker, a pub about half a mile away. Thankfully, the landlord found him and took him to the vet to scan his microchip, so we got him back quickly. Having him microchipped turned out to be a smart move. I like to imagine he followed the pub's cat home and got a bit lost on the way back.

Now, how do you explain falling in love with a cat? Well, first, it's the softness of their fur and the way they nuzzle around your ankles that just melts your heart. Then, you start relying on their presence for the company around the house. And finally, maybe we tend to see our own love reflected in our pets, believing they love us back just as much. I like to think Kevin genuinely loves me, but even if he doesn't, I adore him.

I've lived with cats for most of my adult life, sometimes even two or three at a time. Each of them had their own personality, ways of keeping me entertained, and moments of offering comfort. But my bond with Kevin feels deeper somehow.

There's this manipulation tactic used by cults and abusers called "intermittent positive reinforcement." They start off by showering you with praise and affection, but then slowly start to withdraw it, maybe even treating you cruelly at times. And the thing is, you end up trying harder to regain that initial approval you became hooked on. Kevin, once he had me wrapped around his paw, started pulling these stunts too. Sometimes he'd just ignore me, or even give me a nip if his food bowl wasn't to his liking. And there I'd be, apologizing to him and doing whatever he wanted.

Now, folks who fall for this kind of manipulation often have what's called an insecure attachment style. It means they feel uneasy in relationships and feel like they have to constantly prove themselves or keep tabs on their partner, unlike those who are securely attached and trust their partner's loyalty.

I've been in a loving and steady relationship for three decades, so I thought I had it all figured out. I thought my days of feeling insecure and longing for something more were behind me. But Kevin somehow reignited those old feelings of longing in me.

After the pub incident, I started keeping a closer eye on Kevin. If he had a phone, I might have been tempted to snoop through it. I'd follow him around, maybe even unintentionally scaring off the critters he was hunting, which probably annoyed him. I guess people with an insecure attachment style can be a bit much sometimes. Then, he wandered off again, this time getting stuck in a light well on the other side of the square for two nights. His disappearances just made me miss him even more.

Kevin absolutely thrived when we went out to the countryside. We stuck to the Battersea guidelines, making sure he knew his way around and where his food was before letting him roam freely. It was great for me, but not so much for the local mouse population. But I adore Kevin so much that even seeing him chomp down on mouse heads, as gross as it is, feels wonderful because I'm with him. People with an insecure attachment style can sometimes feel like they're nothing without their loved ones. I overheard my husband once telling someone, "Philippa's mental health depends on where the cat is." And honestly, he might have been onto something there.

My daughter had planned a lovely week in the countryside with me, but on the morning of her arrival, Kevin was nowhere to be found. Instead of enjoying picnics and bike rides, I was stressed out and ruining her vacation worrying about him. We searched high and low, even skipping one house whose owners were away on holiday. Wouldn't you know it, they returned just as my daughter was leaving, and out darted Kevin, looking surprisingly spry after his little adventure. While he was out living his best life on flies and toilet water, I was a wreck.

Next time, I promised myself, I wouldn't fret so much. Easier said than done when Kevin has a knack for slipping through open doors and exploring every nook and cranny, especially his obsession with supermarket delivery vans.

A year later, he pulls another disappearing act, this time in London. I'm on a mission, checking every pub and calling his name until my voice is hoarse. Days go by with no sign of him. My whole world revolves around finding Kevin. We even make headlines in the local paper and plaster posters everywhere. Finally, a call comes in. Kevin's been spotted, stuck on a roof by someone who got one of our leaflets. I cried tears of relief when we finally got him home, tailbite and all.

The vet advises keeping him indoors for a week, which suits me just fine. Maybe, just maybe, Kevin will develop a soft spot for me, like Stockholm syndrome. It's a weird concept, but hey, humans can form attachments with just about anyone, even their captors.

Maybe there's something to this Stockholm syndrome idea for cats too. It certainly seems like Kevin has warmed up to me a bit more since his rooftop adventure. He's giving me plenty of affectionate head-butts and cozy lap sessions now that he's back home.

I jokingly asked the vet if I could just keep him indoors forever, but apparently, that wouldn't be fair to him. After all, he's a wild animal at heart who's chosen to share his life with me. So, Mr. Kinky Tail, also known as Bonzo Boots, also known as Kevin (one cat, many names), is once again a free spirit.

Since the incident, he's been relatively well-behaved. Sure, he still tries to make a break for it whenever a door is left open, but I don't mind. I'm actually quite pleased because now it's me he wakes up at night to show off his latest catch, my feet he uses for his playful biting practice, and my lap he insists on stretching out on when he's all wet from his outdoor adventures.

In my 20s, I learned to let go of indifferent men and found myself a loving partner. But a cat like Kevin, who I adore and have to earn the affection and approval of, well, that's a whole different kind of irresistible force. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to prep some chicken livers in case he decides to come home for lunch.