A year ago, if you’d told me I’d have a cat who literally clings to me like a baby koala, I would’ve laughed. Back then, I didn’t even think of myself as a “cat person.” But that was before I found Aziza behind the dumpsters by my building, shivering, bony, and making this tiny, raspy meow that just broke my heart.
She wouldn’t let anyone near her at first. Took three days of leaving food, moving slow, and whispering nonsense before she let me pick her up. Even then, she’d flinch at sudden movements and hid under my bed for weeks. I spent late nights just lying on the floor, talking to her while she peeked out from the shadows, her big golden eyes locked on me.
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It felt like forever, but slowly, she started trusting me. First, she’d sit at the edge of my bed. Then, she’d sleep beside me, one paw resting on my arm. Now? I literally can’t walk across the room without her jumping onto my shoulder, tucking her head against my neck. She’ll doze off right there, purring so loud it drowns out my TV.
I joke that she’s my little shadow, but honestly, it’s like she’s a permanent fixture now. Everywhere I go, there she is, a little ball of fur, hopping on the counter when I’m cooking, curling up in my lap when I sit on the couch, or staring up at me with those big eyes, like she’s trying to read my mind.
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At first, I thought it was just some weird phase, maybe a result of her past, but after a while, I realized that Aziza wasn’t just seeking attention. She was seeking security. The kind of security she probably never had before. She had been on the streets, left to fend for herself, with no real love or warmth in her life. When she finally found it, it was like she decided she wasn’t letting it go, no matter what.
And, you know what? Neither was I.
I’d always been someone who thought I needed space—space to breathe, space to think, space to just… be alone. But something about Aziza changed that for me. She didn’t need anything from me except love and a little patience, and she gave me so much more in return. I started looking forward to coming home after a long day at work, knowing I’d have her little warm body curled up beside me. Her purring became the background soundtrack to my life, a constant reminder that no matter how chaotic the world was, there was always a little corner of peace with her.
But, as you might expect, with Aziza’s clinginess came some challenges. It wasn’t just the constant shadowing, the way she’d follow me into the bathroom, or the way she’d sit in my lap while I tried to work from home, her little paws tapping at my keyboard like she was trying to help. That wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was the unexpected attention she began getting from people around me.
I started noticing it when I invited my friend Maya over for a cup of coffee. I hadn’t really mentioned Aziza much before that—mostly because I wasn’t used to sharing my living space with anyone else. But Maya, being Maya, immediately noticed the cat perched on my shoulder and started fawning over her. “She’s so cute! What’s her name?” Maya asked as she rubbed Aziza’s head.
And from there, things spiraled. It seemed like every time someone came over, Aziza had to be the center of attention. At first, I didn’t mind. I was proud of her—she was my cat, after all, and I loved seeing her finally getting the love she deserved.
But then, it became a bit… much.
One day, after an especially hectic work week, I invited a few coworkers over to unwind. I was just hoping for a quiet night—maybe some pizza, a couple of drinks, and a few laughs. But from the moment everyone stepped inside, Aziza took over. She was perched on my shoulder, then jumped down to sit on the table where everyone’s drinks were, batting at their glasses like she was trying to join the conversation. No one minded at first, but soon, every time someone reached for a drink, Aziza was there, knocking it over, causing a mess, and meowing loudly for more attention.
I felt embarrassed. As much as I loved my little companion, I couldn’t help but notice how invasive her behavior had become. She wasn’t just seeking me out anymore; she was intruding on my life in a way that felt… uncomfortable. I started to feel like she wasn’t just my cat anymore—she was everyone’s cat. She’d jump on people’s laps during dinner, nudge their hands when they were trying to eat, and even steal food if they weren’t looking.
A few weeks later, I was out running errands when I ran into my neighbor, Tom. Tom was a quiet guy, always friendly but never the one to hang out. He had an easy smile and a bit of an eccentric vibe, so we’d occasionally chat when we crossed paths in the hallway. But that day, when I saw him on the stairs with his own cat, a fluffy Persian named Pippin, he looked at me with this serious expression.
“You know, you’ve got to do something about Aziza,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
I blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Your cat,” he continued, glancing down at Pippin. “She’s got this weird thing, like… a neediness that’s kind of out of control. She’s not really letting you have your own space, and I’ve seen how she behaves at the door when people are over. I think she’s trying to claim dominance in the household.”
I stared at him, feeling a bit of a sting. I hadn’t considered that Aziza’s behavior might actually be problematic, not just endearing. I thought it was just a phase, but hearing it from someone else made me realize something I hadn’t wanted to face: Aziza wasn’t just being clingy; she was invading my boundaries.
I started paying more attention to how she behaved. And sure enough, I saw it—the way she’d get between me and my phone when I was talking to friends, how she’d demand my attention during Zoom calls, pawing at the screen like she wanted to be in the spotlight. It wasn’t just affection anymore. It was dependency. And worse, it was excessive.
That’s when it hit me—I had been enabling her behavior. By giving her constant attention and letting her sleep on my shoulder, I had allowed Aziza’s clinginess to turn into a pattern. She wasn’t just looking for love anymore; she was seeking control, and I had let her take it.
I realized I had to make a change. But it wasn’t going to be easy. Aziza had never known anything else. She hadn’t been shown boundaries before, so she didn’t know where the line was between love and overdependence. I had to teach her—and myself—how to find that balance.
So, I began with small steps. I stopped letting her on my shoulder constantly. I put her down when she climbed onto the counter while I was cooking. I set up a special place for her on the couch so she could still curl up near me, but not constantly. I started setting clear boundaries, making sure she knew when she could have my attention and when it was time for her to be independent.
At first, she protested. She would meow at me, paw at my feet, and even try to climb back onto the counter. It broke my heart a little to see her confused, but I had to stick to it. Slowly, she began to understand. She started curling up in her own little space, content to watch me from a distance. We had our time together, but now it felt like a mutual respect, not an overwhelming need from either side.
Then, a couple of months later, something unexpected happened. One of my coworkers, Mark, who had been the target of Aziza’s relentless need for attention during that disastrous gathering, came up to me one day.
“I think I owe you an apology,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I didn’t realize how much Aziza meant to you. I should’ve been more patient with her. And maybe I should’ve been more patient with you, too.”
I was taken aback. “You mean you’re not mad?”
He shrugged. “I was, at first. But then, I realized… you were right. She’s been through a lot, and she just wants to feel safe. I get it now.”
In that moment, I realized something important: this whole journey wasn’t just about Aziza learning how to respect boundaries. It was about me learning to respect them, too. And that was the real lesson.
So, here’s the thing: Sometimes, love can feel like a little too much. Sometimes, it’s easy to give in to someone’s needs and lose sight of your own. But true love, real connection, is about balance. You can give, but you also need to set boundaries to make sure you don’t lose yourself in the process.
And that’s what I’m learning from Aziza. We’re both growing, both finding that sweet spot where we can love each other without suffocating the other.
If you’ve ever been in a situation where someone’s need for attention felt overwhelming, remember—it’s okay to set boundaries. It’s okay to need space. True love isn’t about giving everything you have; it’s about giving in a way that makes room for both of you to thrive.
If this story resonates with you, share it. Let others know they’re not alone, and that love—real love—always involves respect, for both sides.
