Free Kittens

Kirbey Geissler
Nov 7 · 4 min read

Almost exactly three years ago, life was really different for me. I was living in a different city, attending a different college, and in a whole different place in life, but I was also deeply depressed for the first time. I was missing class almost every day, forgetting to eat, staying in bed for entire days, and feeling a sadness I hadn’t realized was possible.

Now, I’ve been an anxious person my whole life, and have taken meds for anxiety and panic attacks for almost 10 years, so mental health struggles weren’t foreign territory. But I hadn’t realized yet that this wasn’t my anxiety manifesting differently, and that something else was very wrong.

During this time, I was living with three of my close friends at my university and was still somewhat functioning despite the gradual depressive episode happening within me. I was also seeing someone seriously for the first time and feeling all the things around that. Explaining the depression struggles away as my normal anxiety was still working and I don’t think my roommates had totally picked up on how bad I was doing.

One day, I was sitting in the living area with two of my roommates and after briefly checking in with them, I impulsively responded to a Craigslist “Free Kittens” post and told this girl I would take the two kittens she had. My roommates and I walked a couple blocks in the windy fall weather and met her at a parking lot. She reached into her car and grabbed this blanket out and showed me the two tiny kittens and asked if I was sure.

“Yes,” I said, looking to make sure my roommates still seemed to be in agreement.

We thanked her and headed back to the apartment, brainstorming how to get them inside without the front desk questioning us.

Back in the apartment, we started deciding what we should call them. One looked like an orange tabby and the other one a tortoise shell. I don’t remember what we decided to call them, I just remember I kept thinking about just how tiny they were.

Now, a 4-week old kitten is a lot smaller than I was thinking. I now know that kittens aren’t really ready to be going to new homes until they’re about 8 weeks or older. These little babies were meowing and refused to be held separate from each other. Which makes sense, considering they should have still been with their mom at that age. Eventually, my roommates had other things to do and I was left alone with them. We sat on my bed and I tried to start getting to know them.

At some point during this time, it started dawning on me how much care these kittens were going to need. These weren’t the 3-month-old playful babies I had been picturing — these kittens weren’t even ready for hard food yet.

I don’t remember the specifics, but I ended up on the phone with my mom, slowly admitting through a lot of tears that I had taken these kittens in. The tears were proof I was realizing that I was barely taking care of myself lately, and I could hardly be trusted to care for these sweet kittens.

She called my brother who lived five minutes away from me, who was going to figure out how to come get the kittens and take them back to his place until he could find them a new home.

While I waited for him and his roommate to come, I was on my bed holding the kittens and sobbing. It was all hitting me how unwell I was, while simultaneously I was so angry with myself for making this decision. As I was crying, the tiny orange kitten scooted over to me and nuzzled up to me, which only made me cry harder.

This tiny thing I had irresponsibly gotten looked up at me as if to say that it was okay, and I was going to be okay.

Those two cats lived with my brother for a week until he found someone in his Master’s program to take them. He still gets photo updates of them. And I’m still so thankful he was nearby to help me fix the impulsive choice I had made.

I’m in a different city now, at a different university, and have a cat of my own. She’s an emotional support animal who I adopted from a shelter. I still struggle with my mental health a lot, but I’m on meds for both my anxiety and depression, I have a great therapist, and I’m still learning how to cope when the hard days hit.

It all just goes to show that animals can be fantastic companions, but it really shouldn’t be so easy for someone so depressed to get ahold of “free pets,” even if I did end up benefiting from a cat down the road. Don’t take getting a new pet lightly, and please, adopt.

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