Suki. She was everything I said I wanted. Young, check. Healthy, check. Cute, check. Playful, yup. Never one to waste a minute, before my cat of 18 years had been in the ground 24 hours, I was scouring the internet for Siamese kittens. The best way to get over a heart break? For me, it was to give my love quickly to someone else. We always had multiples – several dogs, a number of cats – but Beeky had been my soulmate. He was the one who kept me sane during tumultuous teenage years; the one I snuck into the college dorm; the one who moved with me to the big city and was with me through the start of both married life and motherhood. While we had other cats, no one was able to read me like Beeky, and when he passed, I was anxious to find his replacement.
Suki came from a family breeder – not registered, nothing fancy, but certainly a decent upbringing. There were six siblings, but several had already been claimed, so I had a choice of two females – both so cute – how can you go wrong with a Siamese kitten? After careful consideration, I went for the one that appeared to be deep in thought, surely a sign that she was soulmate material. While she was young, only 8 weeks, and tiny, only 4 pounds, I figured this would give us a great start on the bonding process. Plus it was May, and as a teacher, my summer stretched in front of me with nothing much to do but focus on my new best feline friend.
It was, and was not, a busy household. I was married, but my husband worked out of state, so was only home on weekends. I had one daughter, aged 7, who was on the quieter side; while involved in plenty of extracurricular activities and friendships, very few of them happened at our home, a six acre spread out in the country. The busiest part about it was the other animals – at the time we had three dogs, a rabbit, two goats and several ducks. Plus we had several cats who had always been indoor-outdoor and were not about to convert to indoor only; with Suki, however, I was heading towards the mindset of indoor only.
So how to raise her as my soulmate cat? Well, it only made sense that some of her personality would come from genetics; I had met the parents and they certainly seemed like nice cats – no skitziness, raised underfoot, busy but involved family. I figured the rest was up to me – I needed her to bond tightly with me, and being not one to sit around much, I fashioned a sling-like pocket that I put her in while I trapsed around the house doing whatever it was a somewhat ‘single’ parent did while caring for a seven-year-old child, three in-house dogs, four cats, the rabbit, goats and ducks. Day in and day out I worked to make sure we spent as much waking (and sleeping) time together as possible. I would be her favorite person, and she my favorite cat.
And so it went for those formative three months – we were together day and night (to the best of my ability). Did you know that seal females are very smart, but also typically very independent? They can be quite opinionated and determined, and often don’t like to be told what to do. They also, in general, will fill the role of queen bee, choosing their companions – both human and feline – and blossom with routine and predictability. Despite all my efforts – and my determination to have Suki fill the role of Siri’s soulmate, she was not having it. She liked to do her own thing and was certainly not going to be told who she should bond with. She was not much of a snuggle bug, and I had wanted an ‘in your arms’ type cat. She definitely was not going to be molded into something she was not, and the ‘carry around in the sling idea’ expired the minute she figured out how to jump out of it. The other felines were tolerated, but were clearly below her. As time went on, and yes, the animals continued to accumulate (three dogs became six, four cats crept up to seven), Suki made it perfectly clear that she was one unhappy camper. Not only did she dislike all the animals, she was also not that keen on me, despite all that early together time I had manufactured.
The lesson here? Soulmates only happen once in a great while. You can’t force them, you can’t finesse them, you should consider yourself lucky if you do find one. At one point after we stopped intaking cats into the Rescue program I counted how many personal cats we had over the years, and came up with some crazy number – I think it was in the 60’s. (This is because we typically took in the older cats who only had a few years, so while we had a great many, we also lost a great many.) But in all of those family members, while there were many cats that I absolutely adored, and there were many that fell into the ‘pretty good’ category, there were only four that made it to soulmate status. Suki? She was a nice cat. But my take-away from the experience with her was the lesson, not the cat.
Dear Sebastian:
You came to me on December 22, 1998, just three days before Christmas. Your step-grandmom had adopted a new sibling from me, Celeste, whom she loved dearly. But you just hated Celeste. You had never asked to live with your step-grandmom; your dad had left for the Rainbow Bridge and she was kind enough to take you in. While she provided you with a loving home, the two of you never connected, and it was clear you were an unhappy cat, which translated into an unhappy owner. Adding a sibling made matters worse. I told your step-grandmom that this was not the usual procedure – that I did not place a cat and take a cat in return – but I could tell from her voice, and from yours, it was the right thing to do. So I did.
Down you came to the Virginia Rescue Center. And, as is custom, off we went to the vet to get you checked out. So extremely agitated were you, throwing yourself against the sides of the carrier, yowling up a storm beyond anything any of us had ever heard, that the vet suggested something I never told you, but I refused to listen to her. They had to physically restrain you and heavily sedate you in order to be able to even get close.
Turned out your mouth was a shambles! No wonder you were so crabby, most of your teeth were rotten or falling out. A dental certainly was in order. And so we did one, removing most of your teeth. Surely this would make you happier, and to a very small extent, it did. You came back to the Center to settle in and build a reputation as the “Halloween Hisser”. Adopter after adopter that came through the house was taken aback by your attitude, something unparalleled in my cat experience. You certainly came across as one crabby cat.
Then along came a family in Chicago. Everyone involved felt certain you would be the appropriate fit, except perhaps you. Off you went, complaining loudly, to your new home, and back you came, just a few days later, having protested enough to terrify the family and alert the neighbors. Despite all the in-depth screening and conversations we’d had in advance, this clearly wasn’t the right fit. We were all disappointed; you were extra stressed after enduring several plane rides, and we were back to square one. After some time you settled back into your Virginia routine, still determined not to like anything about anyone.
Determined not to be a loving cat, yet looking at me with those adoring eyes. Determined not to be affectionate, yet rubbing against my legs every time I stood up. Determined not to purr, yet giving small sounds when I kissed your head. Determined not to belong to anyone, yet laying contentedly on the pillow every night. And I, determined not to fall head over heels, did. I thought you would have to stay. I knew you wanted to stay. I kissed your soft head, dodged your clawless paws, ignored your constantly crabby voice, and loved you regardless. I gazed into your big eyes, avoided your territorial stances, shared the bad and the ugly with potential adopters, and loved you even more.
Then, one day, along came two angels. They visited you many times. They listened to your rude words. They endured your angry swats and your toothless hiss. They left, but visited again. They talked – we talked – you hissed. They coaxed – we considered – you grumbled. They cajoled, you lunged, they loved you more.
Tonight you have gone with them to your new home. While you don’t believe it now, thrashing and swearing inside the carrier, they are taking you to a wonderful new life. They are earth angels, and you will go on to live out an amazing life with them and their cats. They will adore your crabbiness, your angry voice, your hissy fits, and your big blue eyes. They will kiss your head, avoid your swats, talk soothingly over your yowls, and love you forever. They will give you warmth, comfort, security, safety, and most importantly, unconditional love.
Many cats have come and gone. Each one is special, and a certain sadness accompanies the wonderful feeling of sending each off to their new home. But for you, Sebastian, for you who was crabbier beyond belief, I sit here and weep, for I will miss you deeply. With your departure has gone a piece of my heart.
Be happy, my friend. Live long and well, and learn to love Kristin and Josh, the rescue angels who could see through your exterior to the frightened insecure boy underneath. I will love you forever.
“Aunt” Siri
(Post adoption note – Sebastian went on to live a long, full and happy life with these two adopters, successfully adjusting through a number of moves and life changes. In 20+ years, this was the only time we actually did a ‘trade’ – taking a cat and adopting out a cat to the same person. In this case, it was the right thing to do, and just goes to show you, nothing about Rescue is black and white.)
The Rescuer’s Promise
Day in and day out I trapse through the crowds of animals in our shelter, but it is one night, after midnight, when it hits me. The expressions on all those furry faces as they look at me, ever so expectantly, stop me in my tracks. There they sit, on the cat tree, inside the condo, behind the bag of food, inside the open carrier. Under the blanket peeking out; standing right in front of me. Umpteen eyes watching, waiting, and hoping.
There are big eyes, small eyes, all sorts of colors, beaming their innermost thoughts at me. Sure, some of it is ‘did you bring treats’, but on a deeper level, I see hope, trust, belief in my ability. How can they have so much faith? How can their history tinged with reality translate into such a magnitude of confidence?
Yet they have it. You can see it. And the pressure can be overwhelming.
For we, as Rescuers, have made a commitment. We have promised each one of them that there is hope. We have worked to overcome their past and told them we could brighten their future. They accept our promises. They have faith in us, even as we struggle to recreate their story.
Trusting us with their lives, they take it day by day, confident we will fix things. They have learned that the hands here are good ones, whether they bring breakfast or antibiotics. It matters not, for we have given them reason to believe.
And we walk in that door, early in the morning, late at night, and there they are. Ready. Waiting. Wondering if the promise we made them is about to come true. Doesn’t matter that it’s nearly midnight, or that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. Maybe. Just maybe it will be their turn to walk into a carrier and go to a furever home. They wait patiently, relying on us to rebuild their future.
I want to give them my heart. My soul. To lay down with each one of them in my arms. To show them what it will be like again one day. I want, more than anything, to bring their dreams to reality, tonight.
Another day comes and goes. An extra scritch here, a soft word there. But it’s not the same as a home. It’s not what they dream about, what they hope for, what we promised. Not yet.
We’ve done good, but we are far from finished. We will get there – because they believe in us, and we won’t let them down.