I just wanna say, for the record: it was his idea.

He was the one who said, “Let’s go to the shelter, just to look.” Twenty minutes later, we were driving home with a sassy tabby named Clementine who had one sock missing and a face full of attitude.

He said he wanted a chill cat. Independent. Low-maintenance.

Now? She’s basically surgically attached to him.

She follows him from room to room like a furry bodyguard. Shower? She sits outside the curtain. Bathroom? Scratches at the door like he’s been kidnapped. Work calls? She’s in his lap, batting at his headset.

But mealtime is where it really gets interesting.

I swear, she’s practically part of his digestive system now. Every time he sits down to eat, Clementine magically appears—purring loudly, her tail flicking side to side, eyes locked onto his plate like a hawk watching its prey. The moment he lifts a fork, she’s already leaping onto the table, doing that little dance that says, “I’m here, and you’re going to give me a bite.” If he even dares to look at her with the slightest hesitation, she’ll tap her paw on his hand, like a furry little judge enforcing a decision.

At first, I thought it was cute. I mean, who wouldn’t think a cat that insists on being the center of attention during every meal was cute? But after weeks of watching the same routine, it stopped being funny. I’d sit across from them at the table, watching as Clementine’s little face tilted in her best “don’t you love me?” expression, while my boyfriend, Ben, would sigh and give in—just a little nibble from his plate. And the cycle continued.

I don’t even know how it started, but soon, Ben couldn’t take a bite without Clementine trying to worm her way into the action. The sandwich that he tried to enjoy during lunch? Gone in seconds, stolen straight off his plate as soon as his eyes diverted to the TV. The bowl of pasta he’d spent the evening preparing? Torn to shreds by little paws as he stepped away for just a second. I found myself laughing at first, but eventually, it became clear: she was running the show.

I’d nudge him. “You’re letting her do this, you know?”

Ben would just smile sheepishly. “She’s just so cute… look at her face, how can I resist?”

I rolled my eyes, but truth be told, I knew he loved it. There was something about the way Clementine made him laugh, the way she clung to him like she was the most important thing in the world to him. She made him feel needed, and he enjoyed the attention. And maybe, in a weird way, I was a little jealous.

I mean, when did I become second place to a cat?

One day, after a particularly long day of work, Ben and I sat down for dinner, just the two of us. Clementine, of course, wasn’t far behind. She hopped onto his lap immediately, curling up into a ball. He scratched her head absentmindedly while we ate. I was trying to keep my focus on my own plate, but there was something so mesmerizing about the way she nestled into him.

“Do you think it’s weird that she’s so… attached to you?” I asked. I don’t know why I asked it, but I felt like I needed to voice it, to understand why I was feeling so left out of the equation.

Ben looked at me, the fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I just… I don’t know. She’s just so into you all the time. She’s always around. It’s like she needs you for everything. And don’t get me started on when you’re eating.” I let out a soft chuckle, trying to make light of it, but the truth was, it was bothering me.

Ben put his fork down, his face softening. “Hey, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I guess it’s just that… she really is attached to me. I never realized it could be so much, you know? But she’s just a cat. I don’t want her to be a burden, but it’s like she wants to be close to me all the time. And I guess I kind of like it too. She makes me feel like I’m important to her.”

I nodded, trying to hide the fact that my heart was sinking a little. I understood, but it didn’t make the feeling go away. It felt like Clementine was monopolizing his attention, and I was fading into the background.

As the weeks went by, things only got worse. I would walk into the room, and there they were—Ben and Clementine, perfectly cozy, perfectly content. I couldn’t help but feel left out. I tried to talk to him about it again, but he would reassure me that everything was fine. It was just a phase. It would pass. But I wasn’t convinced. It felt like a little piece of our relationship was being overshadowed by a three-pound bundle of fluff.

And then came the turning point. It was a Saturday, and Ben had planned to make breakfast for us. I was so excited—finally, some quality time without interruptions. No work, no chores. Just us. As soon as we sat down to eat, though, Clementine was right there. And just like always, Ben fed her a tiny bite of his scrambled eggs.

I couldn’t take it anymore. My frustration spilled over. “Ben, this is ridiculous. You can’t even eat without her being involved in everything you do! You’ve literally turned into her personal buffet.”

His face dropped, and for the first time, I saw the slight hint of guilt in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. I… I didn’t realize it was such a big deal to you.”

I sighed, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. “I don’t want to compete with a cat for your attention. I want you to care about me, too.”

Ben’s expression softened, and he put his hand on mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve let this go too far.”

It was a moment of realization for both of us. Ben acknowledged that he had let things get out of hand, but Clementine had also been the catalyst for something deeper—something about how we’d been drifting apart without even realizing it. Ben was so wrapped up in his love for her, that he hadn’t noticed how it was affecting our relationship. And I had been so focused on feeling pushed aside, that I hadn’t communicated my feelings clearly until it reached the breaking point.

After that conversation, things started to change. Slowly, but surely, Ben began setting boundaries. When it came time to eat, Clementine didn’t get to claim the first bite anymore. If she jumped onto his lap during a work call, he gently placed her on the floor, explaining to her that there was a “new rule” in the house.

It wasn’t an overnight fix, but the changes were noticeable. We both started making more of an effort with each other. We took walks together, spent evenings watching our favorite shows without any distractions, and even found a way to compromise when it came to Clementine. We realized that she didn’t need to be the center of attention all the time, but she still had a special place in our hearts.

A month later, Clementine went from “Ben’s cat” to “our cat.” She became more comfortable with the idea of being independent, and as time went on, I began to feel a little more connected to her too. I started enjoying her company, even when she sat on my lap, making me feel like I was finally part of the little family dynamic we’d all created.

The lesson here? Relationships, whether with people or pets, require balance. You can’t let one thing or person take over at the expense of others. It’s okay to care, to love, but it’s also important to communicate and make space for everyone involved—especially the ones you love.

So if you’ve ever felt like a third wheel to a pet or found yourself overwhelmed by something in your life, remember: it’s all about finding balance. Talk it out, set boundaries, and embrace the love in all its forms.

If you’ve found this helpful, share it with someone who might need a little reminder about balance in their own life.