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I am officially a mother!
The story starts a couple of weeks ago. I was sitting in my apartment, reading on the couch, cuddled under a blanket. And the thought occurred to me: The only thing missing here is a cat.
I grew up with cats. Cats were a fact of life. At my parents’ house, we have two babies named Arnold and Franklin, who I love very much. Our cats have always been cuddly, snuggly sweeties who want attention all the time, and they’re perfect.
When I moved a few months ago, I immediately missed having a furry friend to hang out with. But I needed to get settled in, so I took my time riding solo, sans cat, and adjusting to the new space. Even after I had settled, it still didn’t feel like quite the right time, not yet. And so I waited.
But recently, the itch grew and demanded to be scratched. And before I knew it, I found myself on a local shelter’s website, skimming through the adoptable animals page.
It didn’t take me long to go visit. Surrounded by cages, with kittens mewling and pawing out of their cages, we zeroed in on a quiet cage in the corner. A cat was in there, and he was watching us, but he didn’t make a move to come near.
“Tell me about this one,” I said.
The question caused a flurry of motion. Apparently, the gray cat — named Astronomer — is 5 and a half years old. He’s been in the shelter for ages. He came from an animal cruelty situation. He is so overwhelmed and distressed in the shelter setting that he takes anti-anxiety medication.
But, as the workers reiterated again and again, he is a sweetheart. He requires some time to warm up to you, but once he has your heart, he’s not letting go.
The workers were so excited at the prospect that someone might take Astronomer home. And, the longer that we stared at the cat and he stared back at us, we were pretty convinced.
The car ride home was very vocal. Astronomer — who, for some reason, we immediately dubbed “Murr” — meowed the entire way. When we released him from the animal carrier in the apartment, he stared at us like he had never seen so much space (and maybe, considering how long he had been in the shelter and his murky history before, he really hadn’t).
We spent the night cooing at him. Eventually, he let us pet him. In fact, he rubbed his gums against our hands (a sign of possessiveness) and even showed us his belly (a major sign of trust). He hid and ate his crushed-up pill and purred and generally acclimated.
At 5:30 a.m. the next morning, we were on the hunt. No one had seen Murr since we went to bed the previous night. We searched the apartment high and low and finally found him curled up beneath the couch. The poor baby had expended all his bravery, and he was tuckered out.
He more or less stayed under the couch for the next 72 hours. We coaxed him out every now and then with food and toys. When he got out, he was cuddly, chirping and demanding pets. He curled up on the couch once or twice.
He explored at nighttime. But by the time the morning rolled around, he was always back under the couch, squished in a corner, watching.
And that pretty much brings me to today. I’m still waiting on him to get comfortable, to cuddle up in bed or under a blanket with me. But from what I’ve seen, I don’t think it’s too far off. He wants it, badly. I can tell. It’s just getting him comfortable, pushing past those walls and the (totally understandable) trust issues and anxiety he has.
I love him desperately.
As I wave a treat under the couch and play by myself with a feather in the hopes that he will come out and join me, I am certain we will be best buds before too long. He is my baby. I am his mother. This is going to be fun.
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