American Shorthair
The American Shorthair stands as one of the most balanced feline breeds in existence—a working cat refined by four centuries of natural selection on American soil. Descended from European cats that sailed with early colonists to protect grain stores from rodents, this breed carries the genetic legacy of survival. Every physical trait serves a purpose. The muscular build generates power for hunting. The dense coat repels water and cold. The round face houses powerful jaws capable of dispatching prey efficiently.
Recognition as a distinct breed came in 1906, when the Cat Fanciers' Association registered one of the first American Shorthairs under the original name "Domestic Shorthair." The breed was renamed in 1966 to distinguish it from random-bred cats and to honor its distinctly American heritage. Today, the American Shorthair consistently ranks among the top ten most popular cat breeds in North America, a position maintained through decades of reliable temperament and robust health.
Why American Shorthair
I spent about three weeks going down the rabbit hole of cat breed research before settling on an American Shorthair. Honestly, it came down to practical stuff more than anything else. Ragdolls are gorgeous, but I visited a friend who has one and left covered in fur. Like, I had to lint-roll my black jeans three times. Siamese cats? My neighbor had one growing up and that thing would yowl at 5 AM like someone was murdering it. In an apartment building with thin walls, that's a non-starter. Persians need constant grooming—we're talking daily brushing sessions—and I knew I wouldn't keep up with that.
Short Coats
Low Shedding
Quiet
Don't Scream
16h Sleep
Chill Energy
The American Shorthair just... avoids all these problems. The coat on these cats is genuinely impressive once you understand what's going on. It's a double-layer system—dense undercoat underneath, slightly longer guard hairs on top. Keeps them warm in winter, cool in summer, and most importantly for me, it doesn't require much maintenance. I brush her maybe once a week, sometimes less if I'm being lazy. Takes five or ten minutes. That's it. My friend with the Persian spends more time on grooming in a single day than I spend in a month.
She definitely sheds less than other cats I've been around. I can wear dark clothes without looking like I rolled around on a carpet, which is more than I can say for my parents' house (they have a Maine Coon). The shedding comes in waves—spring and fall, mostly. Rest of the year, it's pretty minimal. During those peak times, I'll brush her twice a week and that keeps things under control. My vacuum doesn't hate me.
God, I'm so glad she's quiet. She meows when she's hungry, meows when I come home, and that's basically it. No random 3 AM yelling sessions. No loud complaints about nothing in particular. My walls are thin enough that I can hear my neighbor's TV sometimes, so a loud cat would've been a disaster. She makes these little chirping sounds when she sees birds outside the window. It's cute, not annoying.
The Siamese thing is genetic, apparently. Those breeds were developed somewhere people actually wanted chatty cats. American Shorthairs came from farm cats and ship cats, where being loud probably got you eaten by something bigger. Whatever the reason, I'm grateful. When she wants attention, she just... walks over and sits near me. When she's hungry, she sits by her food bowl and stares. No screaming required.
She sleeps a ridiculous amount. Like, I'll come home from work and she's clearly been in the exact same spot on the couch for eight hours. But honestly? This works perfectly for apartment life. She's not bouncing off the walls while I'm gone, she's not getting into things out of boredom. By the time I'm home in the evening, she's ready to actually hang out for a few hours before passing out again.
She has maybe two modes: completely relaxed, or intensely focused on murdering a hair tie. Most of the time she's just... existing peacefully. Watching out the window. Sitting on the back of the couch. Following me from room to room but not demanding anything. Then for about fifteen minutes in the evening, she goes absolutely nuts chasing toys around, and then she's done. Walks away like nothing happened. I can't imagine having a Bengal or something that needs constant entertainment. This energy level is perfect for my lifestyle.
What I Feed Her
Finding the right food was annoying. I went through like three different brands before landing on something that didn't make her sick. Started with Blue Buffalo because that's what the shelter recommended. Bad idea, at least for her. She was throwing up constantly, had diarrhea, the whole thing. Tried transitioning slowly over two weeks like you're supposed to—didn't help. Some cats do fine on it, but mine definitely doesn't.
Eventually switched to Royal Canin Indoor Adult, which my vet suggested. Runs about forty to forty-five bucks for an eleven-pound bag at PetSmart, lasts around six to eight weeks. No more stomach issues.
Cats need a lot of protein—they're obligate carnivores, not like dogs that can handle more varied diets. I look for stuff where the first ingredient is actual named meat, not vague "meat meal" or whatever. Chicken, turkey, salmon, something specific.
I throw in wet food twice a week, mostly because she goes absolutely crazy for it and I figure the extra moisture is probably good for her. She doesn't drink a ton of water on her own.
Fancy Feast Classic Pate is her favorite. Specifically the turkey flavor—she'll lick the bowl clean. Tried giving her the fish ones and she looked at me like I'd insulted her. Ate maybe half and walked away.
Two cans a week keeps costs reasonable and means I'm not throwing away half-eaten refrigerated leftovers.
The Litter Situation
Nobody warns you how much of cat ownership is thinking about poop. I use Arm & Hammer Clump & Seal—the one in the purple box. The baking soda actually works for odor, unlike some of the cheaper brands I tried early on. Scooping happens twice a day, morning and night. Skip a day and you'll know it.
Every two weeks I dump everything, wash the box, let it dry completely, and refill. Sounds like a lot but it takes maybe fifteen minutes and the alternative is a smelly apartment.
Mine's in the bathroom, right next to the toilet. There's a vent fan, the floor is tile so cleanup is easy, and I'm in there enough that I never forget to check on it.
Best thirty-five dollars I ever spent was on a top-entry box. Before the top-entry box, there was litter tracked everywhere. Like, I'd find it in my bed somehow. The top-entry basically eliminated that problem. She hops in from above, does her thing, and the litter stays in the box where it belongs. Took her about four days to figure out. Put the new box next to the old one, she watched me drop treats inside a few times, and then one day she just... got it. Haven't looked back.
The Scratching Post Thing
I learned this one the expensive way. She destroyed the corner of my couch before I understood what was happening.
Scratching isn't bad behavior—they need to do it. Keeps their claws healthy, stretches them out, marks territory. The problem is that couch armrests are basically perfect scratching surfaces. Vertical, good resistance, right there in the living room. Of course she went for it.
Now she has a sisal rope post, and I rubbed catnip all over it when I first got it. She uses it constantly. The couch corner is hidden under a strategically placed blanket and she mostly leaves it alone now.
Should've gotten the post before I got the cat. Lesson learned.
Vet Costs
American Shorthairs are pretty healthy as breeds go. They don't have the concentrated genetic issues you see with more heavily bred cats. Annual checkups run me somewhere between eighty and a hundred twenty dollars depending on what shots she needs that year. Add maybe another fifty for vaccines. Compared to what some of my friends pay for their purebred cats, it's reasonable.
The main thing my vet mentioned is urinary tract infections—apparently kind of common in cats that don't drink enough water. Symptoms are pretty obvious: lots of trips to the litter box, crying when she pees, blood in the urine, peeing outside the box. Treatable with antibiotics, but not something I want to deal with. Hence the water fountain.
I thought about pet insurance and decided against it. Monthly premiums are like twenty to fifty bucks, so call it three hundred to six hundred dollars a year before you even use it. Then there's a deductible, stuff that isn't covered, claims getting denied. The math just didn't make sense for a healthy indoor cat. Instead I keep about a thousand dollars in savings earmarked for vet emergencies. That's my pet insurance.
Daily Routine
Cats are creatures of habit, and mine has trained me as much as I've trained her.
Morning Wake Behavior
She knows when sunrise is. I do not know how, but she knows. Around 6:30 she appears next to my face. Not meowing, just... there. Staring. Sometimes she puts a paw on my arm. If I ignore her long enough, she'll start purring loudly, which is somehow more effective than any alarm clock. I've accepted this. Fighting it is pointless.
Primary Feeding
Half a cup of dry food, give or take. Took some trial and error to figure out the right amount—too much and she'd throw up, too little and she'd be demanding food by 4 PM. Her bowl is stainless steel, slightly elevated on a little stand. Supposedly better for their necks and doesn't harbor bacteria like plastic.
Counter Surveillance
She wants to be on the kitchen counter. I don't want her on the kitchen counter. This is an ongoing negotiation. I've mostly given up trying to keep her off entirely—she gets up there when I'm not home anyway, I've seen the paw prints. Now I just wipe things down before cooking and keep anything dangerous put away. We've reached a truce. She has a cat tree near the window that's technically higher than the counters. Sometimes she uses it instead. Small victories.
Evening Reunion
When I get home, she's usually asleep somewhere but always appears within about thirty seconds of me opening the door. Meows once, rubs against my legs, follows me to wherever I'm going. It's nice. My roommate in college had a cat that couldn't have cared less when anyone came home. This feels like actual companionship.
Secondary Feeding
Other half of her daily food. She starts hovering around the food area at about 5:45, so she clearly knows the schedule.
Play Session
This is when she gets her energy out. I drag a feather wand around, throw hair ties for her to chase, whatever she's into that night. Goes on for ten or fifteen minutes until she decides she's done and walks away. Trying to keep playing after she's lost interest doesn't work. She just looks at me like I'm being weird.
Sleep Positioning
She sleeps at the foot of my bed. Took her a few weeks to get comfortable enough to do this—at first she slept in her own little bed in the living room. Now she's basically my weighted blanket.
What I Wish I Knew
Three things I would've done differently if I'd known better:
Get a cat tree immediately. Like, before you even bring the cat home. I waited a few months and it was stupid. Cats need to climb. They need high places to sit and survey their kingdom. My apartment is only 550 square feet, but adding a ceiling-height cat tree basically doubled her usable space. It also saved my furniture. A cat with good vertical options has less reason to climb your bookshelves and knock things over.
Cats are bad at drinking water. Apparently it's an evolutionary thing—their ancestors came from deserts and didn't develop a strong thirst drive. Problem is, not drinking enough causes kidney problems and urinary issues down the line. I got a little water fountain (Catit brand, like thirty bucks) and she drinks way more now. Something about moving water appeals to them. I can tell it's working because her litter clumps are bigger, which sounds gross but is actually a good sign. Should've gotten this from day one instead of wondering why she barely touched her water bowl.
You can trim their nails yourself. I didn't know this for an embarrassingly long time. The groomer was charging me twenty bucks every few weeks, which adds up. Now I do it at home with a seven-dollar clipper. Wrap her in a towel so she can't squirm too much, do one paw at a time, give her treats after. She still doesn't love it, but she tolerates it. Just don't cut the pink part. That's the quick and it hurts them. On her white nails I can see it easily; on the darker ones I just take a little bit off and call it good.
Would I Get Another One
People keep asking if I'm going to get her a friend. I'm not.
550 square feet is fine for one cat. It would be cramped for two. You're supposed to have multiple litter boxes, separate feeding areas, enough territory that they don't stress each other out. I don't have room for all that.
Plus, cats aren't pack animals. They don't need buddies the way dogs do. Some cats like other cats; plenty of them prefer being only children. Mine seems perfectly content being the center of attention.
And honestly? Two cats means double the food, double the litter, double the vet bills. My salary is the same whether I have one cat or two.
One American Shorthair, properly taken care of, is exactly enough cat for me.
