Cat’s runaw-BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!

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There is nothing wrong with your computer screen. Do not make any attempt to readjust your picture.

We at The Adventures of Cat Madigan would like to interrupt the current series Cat’s Run Away, to bring to you another DP Challenge!

What’s that? You want to hear more about how I’m a horrible person and how I ran away from home? Tough biscuits, nonexistent complainer.

There are times where I feel like I have nothing in common with my family. I’m like a black sheep, only I’m a Cat. I’m the Black Cat of my family! How creative of me.

So who do I see when I look at myself?

My horrible fair skin belongs to my father. Yes, fair skin is lovely to have…when it doesn’t go bright red all the time. And then there’s the freckles. Freckles are evil, there’s no point in having freckles, they provide nothing whatsoever, except something for your grandmother to remark on when she analyses you.

But I have received my hair from my father. It’s the one part of me that I actually like. Long, thick curls which now reach down to the middle of my spine. They’re dark at the moment, but in its natural state, my hair is light brown, with sun streaks all over. It’s pretty in the sun. If only they didn’t straighten it all the time at modelling…

And I have my mother to thank for my cheekbones. Oh, and my fat ass. Thanks to my mother, it is my fate to have an ass larger than Australia. And from what I’ve seen of my mother, it’s bound to bring around constant depression induced debates over whether or not to get liposuction to remove said fat from ass. So thank you mother.

Then I look in the mirror again and realise that there’s really not that much I can see that I’ve inherited from my parents. Not physically anyways. But I can see resemblances to my grandparents. I’ve got two of each still, lucky me.

Nose is my Grandma’s. And thank goodness for that. The alternative would’ve been the infamous nose of my paternal grandparents, a large hooked thing which you always see first. But I’ve (thankfully) inherited the small, upturned one instead. I’ve spent many an hour at family Christmas parties, thanking God that I avoided receiving dad’s nose.

Lips are my Grandpa’s I think, because I can’t see them resembling either my mother’s or father’s. My bottom one is fuller than my top one, even though both my parents have thin lips. By the smallest of chances, I escaped having thin old lady lips. Thanks grandpa. But I think that I also have the same body type as my grandfather. He and I are both very tall, like my father, but unlike my father, Grandpa and I are very lean. We’re like trees, and we both have very muscly legs; his from walking around the farm caring for horses, mine from walking and running all day in the city.

Then there’s emotional inheritances….

Personally, I think there’s no such thing. You get your personality from the way you’ve been raised. If you had been raised by two different people, you’d probably be more like them than your parents. Rather than ‘inheriting’ personality, it’s formed by the people who raise you.

So over the years, who have I become?

I’m very stubborn, that’s for certain. As you might have gathered from previous posts, I’m not happy when I don’t get my way. That’s probably thanks to both my mother and my father. But I don’t usually do something about it unless something is completely unfair. That’s when I do something mad, aka. Running away. But I don’t think my parents have ever ran away before. I must be the first person to have that sort of gene. Future generations are going to remember me as “Mad Grandma Cat” from now on. Yay…

I think I have more in common with my father than my mother, when I think about it. We aren’t easy to move, when we’re angry, we’re as cold as glaciers. We’re also very good at arguing our points, and we also have a love for historical fiction, or history in general. But our way of thinking is also the same. We think things through logically, rather than leaping to emotions first off. We’re quiet until you know us well, then we don’t shut up. And we don’t show our pain easily. I have never seen my father cry to this day, and I don’t expect him ever to.

Unlike personality, mental illnesses ARE something you can inherit. And I most likely have anxiety from my father, and depression from my mother. Hence why I am fucked up, imaginary ladies and gentlemen. My brain is addled with depression and anxiety. Plus hallucinations.

They say children are a reflection of their parents, so what exactly does that make me?

Whatever the case, I really hope my kids (imaginary or otherwise) don’t end up like me. I don’t want them to hurt too.

So if you’re interested, here’s the Daily Prompt Challenge! I’ll resume the saga of Cat’s run away next time. I think it’ll take up several posts, so keep reading non existent fans!

Mad Cat.

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