Meet October!
Jun. 28th, 2020 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
juushikaSo, adopting a cat during a pandemic sucks.
I applied for 5(?). Because of the pandemic, everything was low/no contact and demand was high. Every humane society had different practices re: listings, some keeping them up until a minimum number applications came through, come taking them down as soon as a single application came through, some keeping them up until the cat's adopted (!!?!). Callbacks were slow/spotty on account. When I got August, I feel in love with her from her picture listing—so being denied that, seeing cats I thought I could love and then hearing no that day or a week later, was gently heartbreaking. I'm glad that 1) I didn't save their pictures and 2) I have such a shitty memory; forgetting the details also lets me forget the emotional turmoil.
I made an appointment to see Orlo (1yo male, Heartland Humane Society) for a week after sending in that application, because he had one prior hold and then was getting neutered. I knew almost nothing about him at the time except that he was very scared at the the humane society, but improving in 1:1 interactions with volunteers. I then got a callback for Alexis (8mo female, Oregon Humane Society), which only does 24 hour holds and one potential adopter at a time. I did a thorough interview with an OHS volunteer and got to know the cat well at a distance; she was from a hoarding situation and starved for human affection. There was added stress/upfront fees to make sure everyone got FIV/FeLV testing (which OHS no longer does by default, due of cost).
The result is that I was scheduled to meet Orlo on a Thursday, after a week of angsting over his listing; then suddenly was scheduled to meet Alexis that Wednesday. Meeting my "backup" cat first was a mindfuck; I felt like I was betraying the first cat/application, and therefore spiting fate, as I chased the magic "the cat chose me" feeling.
This is what I wrote to Teja the night before meeting Alexis:
Alexis was tiny and beautiful (black with silver tips and a red undertone), and so loving. And I turned her down, and I couldn't say just why. She didn't click—but I don't know if it's because I felt obligated to the "first" cat, or because she was too young, or because I worried she'd steal affection from August, or only because it wasn't meant to be. It doesn't matter and I didn't meet her in bad faith, despite that things were rushed. But that drive home, having turned down a perfectly perfect cat, was horrible—in no small part because it put me in the position of getting that second cat, about whom I knew so little, or starting the whole exhausting process over.
Then I met the Thursday cat. He spent the entire meeting hiding under a cat tower, no matter how quietly or patiently I waited. Eventually he growled or nipped if I offered to pet him. The person I worked with confirmed that he was consistently terrified but not reactive, and had been warming up to repeat visits from volunteers; the rest of his background was a mystery. I never got a clear glimpse of him, and had just his listing to guess at his appearance.
And, reader, despite that the cat was broadcasting "I want nothing to do with you, pls fuck off," I adopted him. There was no immediate click! I don't know if I was doing it because it felt like this cat or no cat. It just felt right to take home someone so scared, to give him a quiet place to become himself. I brought home "Orlo" on May 22.
This was his listing:
lol what a terrified face. When he came home he didn't leave the carrier until I tipped him out and set it up as a den, and he absolutely shat it in on the drive home, poor creature.
And I did a lot of sitting in the bathroom where he was quarantined, reading and gritting my teeth through back pain. Each day it felt like I was meeting a new cat. A cat who relaxed his posture when I proved I wouldn't grab him, who came out of his den for the first time in my presence, who watched me from behind the shower curtain, who was tempted into interacting with me by play. Who meowed for the first time. Who sat on my lap, who purred incessantly. Who carried toys in his mouth.
Who, two weeks later, came out of the bathroom during the daytime. Who sprinted up and down the bedroom with the energy of a thousand quarantined year-old cats. Who got to stay out all the time, and was thrilled to share my bed. Who meowed incessantly in a tiny, sweet voice; who, hugely food-motivated and very smart, learned "paw," "sit", and "up"; who insisted on being involved in Everything, in being nearby All The Time. Who bullied August into cuddles, because it was easier than saying no. Who still plays with the energy of a thousand year-old cats, who carries toys all the time, carries them and puts them on and under and into things and honestly doesn't want you to touch them most of the time, it's okay, he's got this—it's the fucking cutest thing I've ever seen.
(August on right, then left, then left in last.)
Because I was meeting a new cat every day, it took a long time to decide on a name; I didn't make my final decision until I was in the parking lot waiting for his first vet appointment. He's October, for the same reason August is August: because they look so alike; because my dress, my sail. He's mostly called Toby, or Tober; sometimes Crime Boy.
He does many crimes! Adjusting to a new cat is always hard; adjusting while grieving for another cat is worse, because any time I felt uncertain I would wish to have Gillian back. He's an energetic, lively cat; August has to enforce her boundaries, I have to keep him stimulated. Honestly this isn't the type of cat (or household dynamic) that I was looking for.
But I was right, that they all have stories. I took my grief and loneliness as impetus to conduct a scary, exhausting cat-hunt. I took a risk, and gave a scared cat the room to find himself. And he did! They're each of them, every cat, a person—complete, individual, dynamic. The longer he lives here, the less skittish he is but the better he's able to entertain himself; he tests his boundaries but also learns them; he accepts more and more touch; he's evidently happy, brilliantly happy. And you can be overwhelmed in a household with a cat like that, and I am; these are overwhelming times (I say as if it encompasses COVID, BLM, my grandfather dying) and nothing can alter that. But you can't be lonely. Tober leaves no room for loneliness, little room for sadness. He overflows love.
Toby is about a year old, the vet confirms. He wasn't neutered until then, so he has moderately robust jowls and shoulder muscle. His background is a mystery; his health is great. His face and chest fur is shorter than August's, his side and back fur shorter and darker than hers, and ridiculously glossy as he adjusts to his daily fish oil. His tummy fur is curly and long, scattered with red, grey, and white; he has white hair in his ears. His tail is unconscionably plush and fluffy, and so emotive. His eyes are mostly yellow with just an inner rim of green, where August's are mostly green with just an outer ring of yellow. His toebeans are unexpectedly light, almost purple. Before I met him, I told Teja that October "looks a lot like August, but is that the boring choice aesthetically????" and what a fool was I, because having two cats who look deceptively similar but have a million perfect differences to love and memorize is actually the best aesthetic choice. He's beautiful.
And thus I have another cat! A very very good cat.
I applied for 5(?). Because of the pandemic, everything was low/no contact and demand was high. Every humane society had different practices re: listings, some keeping them up until a minimum number applications came through, come taking them down as soon as a single application came through, some keeping them up until the cat's adopted (!!?!). Callbacks were slow/spotty on account. When I got August, I feel in love with her from her picture listing—so being denied that, seeing cats I thought I could love and then hearing no that day or a week later, was gently heartbreaking. I'm glad that 1) I didn't save their pictures and 2) I have such a shitty memory; forgetting the details also lets me forget the emotional turmoil.
I made an appointment to see Orlo (1yo male, Heartland Humane Society) for a week after sending in that application, because he had one prior hold and then was getting neutered. I knew almost nothing about him at the time except that he was very scared at the the humane society, but improving in 1:1 interactions with volunteers. I then got a callback for Alexis (8mo female, Oregon Humane Society), which only does 24 hour holds and one potential adopter at a time. I did a thorough interview with an OHS volunteer and got to know the cat well at a distance; she was from a hoarding situation and starved for human affection. There was added stress/upfront fees to make sure everyone got FIV/FeLV testing (which OHS no longer does by default, due of cost).
The result is that I was scheduled to meet Orlo on a Thursday, after a week of angsting over his listing; then suddenly was scheduled to meet Alexis that Wednesday. Meeting my "backup" cat first was a mindfuck; I felt like I was betraying the first cat/application, and therefore spiting fate, as I chased the magic "the cat chose me" feeling.
This is what I wrote to Teja the night before meeting Alexis:
it's an objective reality that I've set myself up in a situation where I have two good choices, such that I will almost definitely get a cat, which is something I really want to do, and in the next day or two, which is something I've been working for and waiting for it for a while
but I feel like all of the ability to have positive anticipation is burned out of me by the mess that is, you know, quarantine and Gillian and the native stress of getting another cat. the only heightened emotion I know how to feel right now is anxiety
the next 15? years of life with another cat are not at all defined by what's happening right now. my actual life with them will have none of this in it. but it's souring what should be an exciting thing
:(
on the other hand, they all have stories. like when I saw August and I magically knew, just from a picture of her, that that was my soulmate. or when Gillian got him own self adopted just by showing up in the right place under the right conditions, and so guaranteed himself a long and peaceful retirement.
I think we're all going to have quarantine stories, and Gillian will be part of mine. but probably the other half will be how hard I worked for this, how I had to navigate unusual and personally taxing circumstances to invite another cat into my life.
how it was worth it! because they always are
Alexis was tiny and beautiful (black with silver tips and a red undertone), and so loving. And I turned her down, and I couldn't say just why. She didn't click—but I don't know if it's because I felt obligated to the "first" cat, or because she was too young, or because I worried she'd steal affection from August, or only because it wasn't meant to be. It doesn't matter and I didn't meet her in bad faith, despite that things were rushed. But that drive home, having turned down a perfectly perfect cat, was horrible—in no small part because it put me in the position of getting that second cat, about whom I knew so little, or starting the whole exhausting process over.
Then I met the Thursday cat. He spent the entire meeting hiding under a cat tower, no matter how quietly or patiently I waited. Eventually he growled or nipped if I offered to pet him. The person I worked with confirmed that he was consistently terrified but not reactive, and had been warming up to repeat visits from volunteers; the rest of his background was a mystery. I never got a clear glimpse of him, and had just his listing to guess at his appearance.
And, reader, despite that the cat was broadcasting "I want nothing to do with you, pls fuck off," I adopted him. There was no immediate click! I don't know if I was doing it because it felt like this cat or no cat. It just felt right to take home someone so scared, to give him a quiet place to become himself. I brought home "Orlo" on May 22.
This was his listing:
lol what a terrified face. When he came home he didn't leave the carrier until I tipped him out and set it up as a den, and he absolutely shat it in on the drive home, poor creature.
And I did a lot of sitting in the bathroom where he was quarantined, reading and gritting my teeth through back pain. Each day it felt like I was meeting a new cat. A cat who relaxed his posture when I proved I wouldn't grab him, who came out of his den for the first time in my presence, who watched me from behind the shower curtain, who was tempted into interacting with me by play. Who meowed for the first time. Who sat on my lap, who purred incessantly. Who carried toys in his mouth.
Who, two weeks later, came out of the bathroom during the daytime. Who sprinted up and down the bedroom with the energy of a thousand quarantined year-old cats. Who got to stay out all the time, and was thrilled to share my bed. Who meowed incessantly in a tiny, sweet voice; who, hugely food-motivated and very smart, learned "paw," "sit", and "up"; who insisted on being involved in Everything, in being nearby All The Time. Who bullied August into cuddles, because it was easier than saying no. Who still plays with the energy of a thousand year-old cats, who carries toys all the time, carries them and puts them on and under and into things and honestly doesn't want you to touch them most of the time, it's okay, he's got this—it's the fucking cutest thing I've ever seen.
(August on right, then left, then left in last.)
Because I was meeting a new cat every day, it took a long time to decide on a name; I didn't make my final decision until I was in the parking lot waiting for his first vet appointment. He's October, for the same reason August is August: because they look so alike; because my dress, my sail. He's mostly called Toby, or Tober; sometimes Crime Boy.
He does many crimes! Adjusting to a new cat is always hard; adjusting while grieving for another cat is worse, because any time I felt uncertain I would wish to have Gillian back. He's an energetic, lively cat; August has to enforce her boundaries, I have to keep him stimulated. Honestly this isn't the type of cat (or household dynamic) that I was looking for.
But I was right, that they all have stories. I took my grief and loneliness as impetus to conduct a scary, exhausting cat-hunt. I took a risk, and gave a scared cat the room to find himself. And he did! They're each of them, every cat, a person—complete, individual, dynamic. The longer he lives here, the less skittish he is but the better he's able to entertain himself; he tests his boundaries but also learns them; he accepts more and more touch; he's evidently happy, brilliantly happy. And you can be overwhelmed in a household with a cat like that, and I am; these are overwhelming times (I say as if it encompasses COVID, BLM, my grandfather dying) and nothing can alter that. But you can't be lonely. Tober leaves no room for loneliness, little room for sadness. He overflows love.
Toby is about a year old, the vet confirms. He wasn't neutered until then, so he has moderately robust jowls and shoulder muscle. His background is a mystery; his health is great. His face and chest fur is shorter than August's, his side and back fur shorter and darker than hers, and ridiculously glossy as he adjusts to his daily fish oil. His tummy fur is curly and long, scattered with red, grey, and white; he has white hair in his ears. His tail is unconscionably plush and fluffy, and so emotive. His eyes are mostly yellow with just an inner rim of green, where August's are mostly green with just an outer ring of yellow. His toebeans are unexpectedly light, almost purple. Before I met him, I told Teja that October "looks a lot like August, but is that the boring choice aesthetically????" and what a fool was I, because having two cats who look deceptively similar but have a million perfect differences to love and memorize is actually the best aesthetic choice. He's beautiful.
And thus I have another cat! A very very good cat.
