In the chaos of divorce and shared custody with my two little girls, my ex-husband got a cat, and I thought by promoting uniformity between the two homes, I should too. The problem was this: I didn’t want a cat. I didn’t particularly like cats. My ex did. Although my decision was fueled by single-parent shame, his decision was matter-of-fact.

For a decade, we were harried Los Angeles co-parents, entwined by conversations involving camp sign-ups, parent/teacher conferences, pediatrician appointments, dividing spring break weeks and the antidotes of two troublesome felines.

My ex’s cat, Champ, chronically peed on his couch and spent most of its daylight hours hiding under a chair. My cat, Seuss, behaved like a jailed convict, seeking any opportunity for escape from my apartment. I was cont

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