Carbon

Carbon is a grey cat with golden eyes and an outsized personality. He’s been my constant companion at home — the one who’s always there when I get back from wherever in the world I’ve been, usually with an opinion about how long I was gone.

He has what I’d describe as “crazy moments” — sudden bursts of energy I’ve learned to anticipate after years of living together. He meows for attention and gets visibly upset when the petting stops. He hides under the dresser when strangers come over and doesn’t come out until they leave. When he stays at a friend’s house, he seems to enjoy the extra space. I once joked that he’d joined a gang.

He had a rough start — an eye condition that was either present from birth or developed early in life when he was on the streets. In June 2025 he ended up at the 24-hour VCA in Weymouth with a corneal ulcer in his left eye, which meant a week of eye drops three to four times a day. He was not a fan. Later that year he was diagnosed with feline herpes causing occasional conjunctivitis, and the vet gently suggested he go on a diet. The vet called him a “little chunkster.”

He has an automatic feeder, a Kittylawn litter setup, and an Apple TV app called Cat TV that plays birds and squirrels for him. He gets regular manicures at the vet. He eats Purina Adult Indoor formula.

When I travel, friends take turns watching him. One of them told ARIA they “loved taking care of him” and called him “great.” My mother visited us in June 2025, and I missed him the one night he was away from home.

He’s a biter, a scratcher, a bed hog, and the best thing in my apartment. I stay in a lot when I’m not traveling. Mostly it’s just me and him.