Made To Be Loved

Some of the greatest love stories that are told happen between cats and their humans. I don’t imagine there’s a single one of us who hasn’t been scarred at one point or another by the razor sharp claws of our innocent little fluffballs, but that doesn’t lessen our love. Oh no, quite the contrary. This is probably why Jonathan Safran Foer’s description of cat love in his book Eating Animals is so spot on:

“Of course, people find beauty in things without wet noses, too. But there is something unique about the ways in which we fall in love with animals. Unwieldy dogs and minuscule dogs and long-haired and sleek dogs, snoring Saint Bernards, asthmatic pugs, unfolding shar-peis, and depressed-looking basset hounds — each with devoted fans. Bird-watchers spend frigid mornings scanning skies and scrub for the feathered objects of their fascination. Cat lovers display an intensity lacking — thank goodness — in most human relationships.”

With that declaration, here’s yet another story of one human growing to love a tiny kitten with that peculiar intensity which gives meaning to the term “cat-lady.”

Blue Eyes

The tiniest claws were scribbling the tiniest red scratches on my arm. Terrified blue eyes stared up into mine. Weighing less than two pounds, she felt like an armful of air. When she was placed back in her kennel, she settled into her litter box to avoid being seen. And I decided then that she needed to see the better side of humans.

So we placed all two pounds of her trembling skin and dainty bones into a makeshift carrying box and brought her home. On the way, I wondered what sort of thoughts cats must have. When I open the box, will she cower? Will be leap at me in bewilderment?

Instead, when I opened the box, there she sat, perfectly still in that graceful posture felines so often assume, looking up at me, her big blue eyes full of curiosity. Perhaps the ride home in a dark box hadn’t been as unpleasant for her as I’d feared. Perhaps being removed from an environment where she was surrounded by hundreds of other cats and barking dogs had instantly been a huge relief. She refused to come out of her box and knowing nothing about the ninja skills all kittens possess, I wondered if her tiny legs were big enough or strong enough to allow her to hop out. So I picked her up and placed her on the floor. She instantly crawled to the corner of the room and wedged herself against the wall, from where she watched me from the corner of her eye.

For the Love of Purrs

I assumed that the only way to win her over would be to practice patience, while still interacting with her somehow. So I settled down on the floor next to her, and began gently petting her. After a few minutes, she relaxed and her tiny body began to vibrate. Having never heard a cat purr before, I marveled at the peculiarity of it.

For the next several months, tiny paws crawling up my chest would often wake me up at five in the morning. I would open my eyes to find a squinting fuzzy face sniffing my nose. And if I was in luck, when I scooped her up and placed her under the covers with me, she would curl up beside me and purr for hours. It remains the single most comforting sound I have ever heard.

The Little Kitten Who Could

We decided to name her Minnie, because of her size and because she squeaked like a mouse instead of meowing. As a kitten, Minnie was a lap kitty. She loved nothing more than to curl up on a lap and nap for hours.

My brother and I frequently spent evenings during summer break watching movies. One evening, Minnie decided hopping on the couch the easy way was for sissies. So she determined that the only way to get on the couch was by hopping on the armrest, which was nearly four feet above the ground, or, the height of five Minnie’s. The first jump was futile. Her tiny body flew against the armrest and fell back to the ground, where she landed with a tiny squeak. She nonchalantly walked away as though nothing had happened; cats are known to brush off their mishaps in this manner. A few minutes later, she came back and tried again, this time, getting a little closer to the top before falling back to the ground with yet another squeak. But on her third attempt, she gripped that armrest with her little claws and hoisted herself up. She then arranged herself proudly on the armrest and scanned the room for a few brief moments before hopping back down and walking away, content that she had extended her reach to an entire world of things that are to be found four feet above the ground.

Saying Good-bye

Minnie was everyone’s pet. My mom grew to love her very quickly despite lacking that love for animals, which my brother and I seem to have been born with. My dad, despite claiming that he didn’t care for her, was often caught petting her when no one was watching. And I spent that time wondering who Minnie would ultimately end up with. I was in my early 20’s and would soon have to move out of my parents’ house. My brother would soon go away to college.

As Minnie grew older, I can’t say she didn’t develop that stereotypical cat attitude; it’s as though she knew how pretty she was and deduced based on this that the rest of the world was inferior to her. She rarely spent time napping on anyone’s lap anymore. She stopped crawling up to sniff my face every morning.

Yet still, some mornings, I would wake up to find a warm lump wedged against my leg. Despite her need to be independent, she felt inclined to remain close to humans. Two years after adopting Minnie, I had grown to find great comfort in routine trips to the pet shop; nothing gave me greater satisfaction than purchasing gourmet grain-free, by-product-free cat food.

I was certain that I was a cat-lady in the making until suddenly, when I least expected it, I had a ring on my finger and a ticket booked to spend the next year of my life in New Zealand and Australia.

It has been six months since I said good-bye to Minnie. Since then, I’ve learned all the ways in which missing a pet is different from missing friends and family members. I can talk to my mom on the phone. I can’t talk to Minnie. I can’t hear her purr. I can only wonder if she will remember me when I return.