No, not a second cat, but another installment of musings on the one already present. I've been informed by a reliable source that such a pet helps to encourage a positive balance of a woman's hormones and provide an outlet for her maternal affections, and for this reason I'm perfectly content for my wife's sake to endure the presence of the animal for the duration of its lifespan (or my own, whichever ends up being shorter). On a strictly personal level, however, keeping the cat has yet provided no tangible benefit and several disadvantages.
Remarkably, the financial cost is not one of them; feeding, maintenance and veterinary expenses are quite moderate. The expense, rather, is to my emotional well-being and ability to ever get a decent night's sleep. I was awakened eight times last night while the little monster ran across my chest, loudly jumped up and down all over the tatami, and stuck its anus in my face so it could lick my wife's neck while purring like an automobile engine.
The cat is a dead ringer for all those used to advertise various pet products. It's apparently an American Shorthair, or what we Yanks used to call simply a 'tabby'. Despite being so ubiquitous as to be almost free in the United States, they're actually expensive in Japan, for reasons I have yet to understand. People who enjoy wasting their money on that sort of thing have tried to imply that my cat looks like a 'mix', probably because they're jealous that I've acquired a status symbol for free, while they had to pay way too much money for theirs. For my part, it's not a status symbol I desire at all to own.
As the cat prefers to muck about in the dirtiest part of the house, the entryway just inside the front door, before obstinately hopping up onto the kitchen counter and dining room table, I've been attempting to train it with a squirt gun. The penalty of being hit with water, however, has thus far been insufficient to dissuade it. Perhaps as winter comes and the water becomes more like ice, the risk will make the lure of mischief less attractive. At least, that is my hope.
Finally, the greatest source of my torment is the fungal infection known as ringworm, which still persists on my knees and forearms after several months and three courses of treatment. (The cat and my wife were both cured promptly as soon as they began their respective treatments, and have had no recurrence.)
In spite of all, still I must remind myself: You have a cat. Be happy.