Three years ago, I met my bestest buddy in the whole wide world. His name is Keanu and he’s my cat!

Well, technically, he’s not my cat. He’s my girlfriend’s cat. She already had another cat and I was allergic to cats, so I was hesitant about living with another one. Those allergies were under control since I started hanging out with her, but I was planning on moving in and two cats may have been two too many for me. But my gf said she just wanted “to look” at the local cat cafe and, well, we came home with a new cat.

Mia, the other cat, was nervous and salty and didn’t really know how to cat very well, so the cat cafe suggested we get a younger male cat for her to be friends with. Keanu was supposed to be “chill,” and “quiet,” and “got along well with everyone.” (Hence his name. We actually didn’t know there was a movie called Keanu by Key & Peele until later.)

The cat cafe lied to us. Keanu was anxious and loud and wouldn’t stop constantly begging for food. Keanu and Mia also did not get along. (Three years later, they, at best, tolerate each other.) Keanu scratched at all doors, even the refrigerator door. He set the fire alarm off when climbing on the oven to get treats on top of the refrigerator.

But things changed. He and I bonded by being up late at night together. He’s not a lap cat, but he became a snuggler. He purrs and talks to me constantly. He became terrified of the TV turning on. He demands food and pets. He likes to be the little spoon when I’m reading.

Happy three years of being friends, Keanu! And happy belated 7th birthday!