An Animal Person

 Even though I scroll through social media as much as the next person (my drug of choice is Instagram, or Reddit if I really have time to fall down a rabbit hole), the piece of social media that affected me most this week was not even viewed by me. 

My husband mentioned seeing posts about a documentary on Twitter. It came out a few years ago, but it was coming up in our Netflix "suggested" list a lot, and so Chris Googled it. I will not share the title here, but it involved an individual who began his life as a serial killer mistreating animals - specifically, cats. 

When Chris mentioned this detail, I had an almost visceral reaction to it. There was nothing that sounded more unpleasant to watch at that moment. And I realized it was because now, I am a pet owner. It affected me so quickly because I was thinking of my own cat, and someone possibly harming her. I told my husband I didn't want to watch it, possibly ever. 

Not too long ago, I would not have had that reaction - I didn't have my cat. This piece of social media affected me much more than it would have three years ago. 

Growing up, my family never had pets. My brother and I never wanted one quite badly enough to push my parents from  "we'll see" to a "yes." 

My husband, in contrast, has had pets all his life. Cats, birds, one dog, sugar gliders, bearded dragon lizards -- he's had them all. But his relationship with his cat, Vic, is one I immediately noticed. My husband is the cat's favorite person, and he adores him. It took years for him to warm up to me! I found myself wishing I could have a bond with a pet in the same way.

So after we moved in together, Chris asked me if I would ever want another cat. "It would be yours, though," he clarified. "I mean, you've never had a pet." He explained that we would make sure that this cat bonded with me right away. I would be the cat's "favorite person." We agreed that it would be an early birthday present.

We looked at a few breeders with kittens, but eventually, and I believe fatefully, Chris found my cat while searching for Russian Blues (Vic's breed) online. A link to an animal shelter website came up, and there she was: a year and a half old, dark gray with tufts of white. The shelter workers had named her Marigold. I knew immediately that I wanted to see her. 

At the shelter, a few of the cats came up to us right away. They meowed, scratched, tried to play. Marigold did not. The young gray cat we had come to see was very timid, and seemed to lose interest in us quickly. And she was tiny! Much smaller than the pictures. Chris felt she was being overshadowed slightly - well-taken care of, of course, but in competition for attention with the other cats. Still, she let me pet her easily.

We decided to take the next step and have the shelter owner bring her over for a visit. One of us had to be home on a weekday, and it worked out that Chris was off on Wednesdays at that time. I anxiously went through my workday, eager to see her. Chris sent me a video and pictures, as she played and licked his hair. 

I texted back. "How's it going?" I asked. I wasn't sure how long she would be staying. He replied, "She is ours until further notice." 

The shelter owner was confident we could provide her with a good home, and Chris signed the adoption forms that day. When I got home, I sat in our extra bedroom with her. "Make sure she hears your voice," Chris advised. "Talk to her, even if you just read something to her." He wanted to ensure that my cat would not become his cat because of his familiarity with animals. 

So I talked to her. I fed her. And, yes, I even read to her from one of my books. I tried to think of a good name for her, this little animal that suddenly I was going to be taking care of. 

I finally settled on Cleo. My mom found a list online specifically for gray cats, and for some reason, that name was on it. I liked the way it sounded. As it turns out, it fits her perfectly. We quickly discovered that she was not as timid as she seemed - in fact, she was loud. After a few days, she meowed with impunity and even hissed at Vic. But later, she was enthusiastically approaching him to play (he had none of it). 

She is as bold and sassy as her namesake, the last queen of Egypt, must have been. But she is simultaneously full of love and affection. Almost every day when I come home, she greets me at the door, rolling around on her back like a little dog. She will spend the whole day playing, racing around after bottle caps and hair ties and the occasional store-bought toy, and then seek me out, plopping down in my lap or on my chest. When she sleeps, there is usually a smile on her face - a look of pure contentment and comfort. She is the companion I never knew that I wanted. 

In short, barring my husband, I have never felt so much love for another creature - and I'm sure I won't again until I have children. 

And in the years I have had Cleo, I find I have a deeper empathy for all animals. Stories such as the one Chris relayed from Twitter have a tendency to invoke feelings that weren't present before. I could not stomach the thought of watching a film that dealt with the mistreatment and possibly torture of innocent animals like mine. It would have disturbed anyone, but I was completely turned off to it because of the depth of feelings I have for Cleo. She has shown me that at their core, what all domestic animals really want is simply to be loved. They are not so different from us in that way. They thrive with acceptance, affection, family. 

Often, it seems like Cleo has always been my cat. It is hard to imagine a time without her. But those Twitter posts reminded me of the difference a few years can make in one's outlook. All because of a little gray cat.