I Don’t Live Alone; I Live with Cats

Living alone and not sharing my house with another human being has its pluses and minus. The minuses include occasional feelings of loneliness and having to manage and execute all the other once-shared responsibilities that come with running a house, paying the bills, and making sure there is gas in the car.

I have come to slowly and selectively appreciate the pluses over time. These include having freedom to watch whatever programs I want on the TV, not having to pick up after anyone but myself, and stretches of uninterrupted quiet that I now understand are essential for my emotional well-being.

But I don’t live alone. I live with cats.

Growing Up with Dogs

Generations of dog lovers came before me! My mother grew up with dogs. Her father grew up with dogs. I grew up with dogs: a Weimaraner named Rusty. Until I was six or seven, he was my constant companion. But, as things go, Rusty got old and died.

You would think the replacement would have been, without question, another dog! But the discussion was derailed when a friend of the family shared that their cat had just had a litter, and would we like a kitten? For reasons I suspect were informed by who had to walk the dog, wash the dog, and pick up after the dog, the answer was, “Yes!” and Calico came to live with us.

From that time forward I have always had a cat.

Cats Suit My Personality

I like cats because I think I can figure them out. Once they have trained me around their preferred food selections and dining times, I can pretty well just stick with the schedule without having to undergo a lot of kerfuffle. This suits my preference for predictability.

I like cats because they are low maintenance; specifically in terms of toileting. While some folks can’t imagine cleaning a litter box, my sympathy is triggered watching humans picking up their pup’s poop in all kinds of weather. I just scoop the poop. This suits my preference for efficiency.

Cats Have Found Me

Except for Calico, all the cats that I had in my life up until this latest pair, found me. They were strays. I really identify with that because I, too, am a stray. Corkey was a Maine Coon who we found on the side of the road, her fur matted and her personality untrusting of humans. Once groomed, fed, and allowed to decide for herself who she would make friends with, she took over the household.

Corkey loved nothing better than to ride in my mother’s Triumph Spitfire, perched behind her acting as a headrest, while my mother drove. These drives included moving from our home in the suburbs of Chicago to the small town in Wisconsin where our family roots were, and where my mother and Corkey remained for their respective lifetimes.

I moved away from Corkey and my mother and acquired Fuzzer when I moved to San Francisco. Officially named, “Pushkin”, she preferred to be called Fuzzer, especially when it was time for food or treats. When I merged households with a friend who also had a cat, (Emmy Lou, AKA “Bunny”), the two successfully negotiated territory and spots in the sun, eventually becoming good buddies.

George Kitty Takes the Stage

Time passed, households changed, and my husband and I moved to Sonoma Valley. My husband’s oldest daughter had married a career Air Force non-com. She and her family, along with George Kitty came to stay with us before they moved to their next posting in Alaska.

They moved on and George Kitty stayed with us.

George-Kitty had particularly mischievous personality and great jumping ability. I could be standing in the kitchen staring at the refrigerator and he would jump from the floor to my shoulder and rub his head, claiming me as his property.

I had never had a cat do that. It took several attempts before George Kitty and I got the hang of it. Once we did though, it became a bit of a party trick. George lived with us for 14 years.

An Interim without Animals

My husband died in 2009 and George-Kitty and I navigated those first grief-filled years together. He became my grief counselor. When I didn’t care whether I ate or bathed, he insisted that I feed him and make sure his litter box was clean. He gave me a purpose.

Then, within two years of my husband dying, I had to deal with having to put George-Kitty down. There is no getting around the emotional pain of seeing the life pass from a loving, loyal companion, no matter how kind the intention or necessary. I am so grateful that my veterinarian made house-calls.

I made a very conscious decision not to get another pet after this. I became more comfortable not having the responsibility of caring for another being. I got used to a house where I was the only occupant. But I could not get around the fact that the house was very empty with just me and my memories. I thought about adopting, but just never got around to doing it.

The Pandemic Year

2020 shifted everything. Even though I didn’t spend much time going out anyway, not being able to go out seemed to make being home alone even more stark. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a cat to spend time with?” I thought to myself. And took no action whatsoever.

By Christmas of 2021, I had decided I was ready to share my life once again with a fur beast. I went online to my local shelter website and started scrolling through the pictures. I had read somewhere that black cats were particularly difficult to place because people had lots of superstitious ideas about them, so I decided to adopt a black cat.

Adopting a Pet is a Rigorous Endeavor

Given that my entire life experience with “getting a cat” had consisted of having the cat just show up, I was not prepared for the vetting process required in 2021. After filling out the application, I set up a time for a face-to-face visit.

At the appointed time, I made my way into a lovely small room where this huge black cat sat majestically in one corner, and to the side, quite meekly, sat a small gray tabby. The shelter staff person informed me that I was there to see if it was to be a good fit for the black cat with me (not the other way around!), and the gray tabby was extraneous to the adoption.

On her way out the door, the shelter staff said, “The two of them have bonded here, but I’m sure the little one will manage after her protector is gone.”

Cat-Lady Stereotypes Aside . . .

Now, I had considered long and well the financial impact of one addition to my household, and was willing to pay the fees, including vet follow-up care, shots, special food, and toys necessary for the appropriate care and feeding of my new house-mate. But, could I . . . should I . . . would it be realistic to take on two?

To no one’s surprise, I ended up coming home with both of them, and renamed them to suit my needs: Max and Bela. Having them in my home has brightened my days in untold ways.

Laughter, Joy, Companionship

Once again, I have purpose. I fret when their food isn’t delivered (an artifact of COVID) on time. I huff and puff changing their litter box. I appreciate their ability to tell time, even when there are time changes. And most of all, I have a burst of oxytocin when they find it in their schedule to curl up with me, purring, or allowing me to have some kitty-cat cuddle time.

The most profound change is that I find myself laughing out loud on a daily basis. Sometimes it is because they are doing unbelievably silly things; other times it is because I catch myself engaged in equally silly antics trying to get them to do certain things.

Caring for Another Opens My Heart

As a species, we seem to be hard-wired to care for one another. In spite of the current state of the world, there are many tender acts of kindness being made toward species that cannot speak our language, but are in need of care, safety, food, water, and comfort. Essential ingredients we all need to survive.

I am so fortunate that Max and Bela have come to rely on me for meeting their needs. I am so grateful that I am able to do that. My household is full. I no longer live alone.