Cat jumps onto my desk and stands amid untidy stacks of manuscripts, coolly scanning his surroundings. His eyes blaze bright as a torch, as if he can’t wait to set this jumble on fire, burning it away to nothing, leaving just the pristine surface of the desk for him to proudly strut, curl up, or sprawl upon.

Cats love everything around them to be spotless and laid bare, a canvas against which they can strike all sorts of poses, stretching in any direction they like. Cat loathes my work desk because it is cluttered at all times with book manuscripts and other objects, an obstacle course. Crouched between piles of books, he furrows his brow and shoots an icy glare at me between the gaps of the debris, a chilling sight. A moment later, he shoves my ziggurats of books over, crashing them to the ground before I have a chance to catch them. Cat is well-practiced at this, and if I’m a moment too slow sticking out my arm to stop him, all I can do is watch as these towers disintegrate before my eyes like skyscrapers being demolished. With a smug air, Cat licks his murderous paws before swiftly fleeing the scene of the crime.

Cat often spirits away the erasers I leave on my desk, nudging them out of sight so they aren’t there when I need them. Any item I don’t put back in its place immediately after using it, Cat regards as fair game for confiscation. With a swift motion, the object is in his jaws—and once apprehended in this manner—will be extremely difficult to recover. The objects that Cat stashes are gone without a trace, and all I can do is wait for the distant day when they will reveal themselves. During our last spring cleaning, Husband reached under the sofa and emerged with several pencils, a few erasers, and a lighter.

I don’t enjoy tidying up, while Cat is compulsively neat. Like a public health inspector, he paces up and down my desk all day long, forbidding me to leave anything out of place. I tense up, nervous that I might forget to put something away. When I asked Husband what I should do about the headache of being surveilled by a cat all day long, he unexpectedly took Cat’s side, and even volunteered to join Cat on cleanliness patrol. And so I, the slob, was left all alone.

If I’d known how this would turn out, I’d have never spoken to Husband to begin with. Not only have I lost a potential ally, I’ve gained a nemesis. From now on, I’ll have to be much more careful, not daring to risk a moment’s untidiness.

This has increased Husband’s affection for our fastidious cat. Cat only has to wash his face or lick his fur for Husband to heap praise upon him. Cat daintily moistens a front paw, then rubs at his chin and the corners of his mouth, working from bottom to top, first the left side of his face and then the right, before moving on to the rest of his body, until his fur glistens. When Cat basks in the sun, the warmth of the rays emulsifies with calcium and saliva into a substance he spreads evenly over himself with his tongue, creating a translucent membrane of light. With this layer of protection, he’s free to roll around on the floor as much as he likes. When he’s done, a simple swipe of his tongue removes all the dust, restoring his shine once again.