Risi: The Ragdoll Who Fooled Me

Let me tell you about Risi. He’s a Ragdoll, which means he’s supposed to be floppy, affectionate, and the feline equivalent of a weighted blanket. That’s what I signed up for. What I got... well, let’s just say I was catfished by a kitten.

It all started when the breeder sent me a video of this soft little angel running up to people like he was auditioning for the role of “Perfect Cat” in a Disney movie. I fell in love instantly. How could I not? He looked like a cloud with legs.

That was a big, fat, fluffy lie.

For two glorious weeks, Risi played the part. Sweet. Cuddly. Devoted. Then one day, he flipped the script. The real Risi emerged—a chaotic gremlin with a personal vendetta against me.

Now, he only becomes friendly when food is involved. If he’s in a mood (which is often), he hides at the end of the hallway and waits. The moment I walk by? BAM. He leaps out like a Halloween decoration and “hugs” my legs—aka clamps on like a furry landmine. If I try to pet him when he hasn’t initiated it? Smack. Instant rejection.

But here’s the kicker: everyone else in the family thinks he’s the sweetest cat on Earth.

He melts for my mom. He throws himself dramatically onto my sister or brother while they’re asleep like a feline romantic lead. He rubs his head against theirs, purring like a tiny motorboat. He lets them pet him, hug him, bury their faces in his fur—all without even lifting a paw in protest.

Me? I don’t get that luxury. I’m the servant, the butler, the peasant. The help. I feed him, clean up after him, and in return I get ambushed, smacked, and ignored.

I’ve officially concluded that Risi loves people who are either younger or older than me. It’s not a scientific theory, but it feels personal. I refuse to believe he just dislikes me. That would hurt more than the sneak attacks.

Still, he’s part of the family. And even though he’s a certified menace to me, I have to admit—he’s pretty dang cute while doing it.