I was six years old when my owner turned me over to a
shelter because he was getting married to a lady with two kids who were
allergic to me. I felt bad ‘cause I liked the kids. And I loved my owner who
raised me. It took me a while to figure out that it wasn’t my fault I was put
in kitty jail in a cage. I don’t think I’d ever been so scared in my life. I
was still in quarantine when the shelter lady brought another lady into the
quarantine area to look at some of us kitties. The lady said she wanted a
younger cat, but not a kitten—maybe one that was about two years old. I felt
sad, because I was six then, but she had no idea how young at heart I was. I
knew I could be perfect for her if she gave me a chance.
Well, a couple of the other kitties made fools of
themselves, swiping at her with their claws and leaping around in their cages.
(I don’t have claws on my front paws. My first owner was afraid I’d ruin the
furniture, so he had the vet cut them off—along with the tips of what would be
my fingers. It hurt so much.) The shelter worker pointed to me huddled in my
cage on the floor and said, “This could be a good cat for you.” But then the
lady asked the big question—How old is she? I just stared. I didn’t want to
make eye contact because what if I saw kindness in her eyes and then she walked
away from me?
Both ladies left and closed the door. I shook a little bit
in my cage, afraid I’d have to live here from now on. And I’d heard stories
about cats and dogs that weren’t adopted soon, that they were pushed across the
rainbow bridge. And they’d done nothing wrong to deserve it.
The shelter was closed for two days and the only people I
saw were the workers who fed and watered us and cleaned out our litter boxes.
They were nice enough, but no one touched me or talked to me.
Then the lady came back! She waited by my cage while the
shelter lady opened the door and pulled me out. I wasn’t too willing to go at
first. I didn’t know what they might do to me. I was at least safe in my cage.
But the shelter lady handed me over to the other lady. She hugged me and rubbed
her chin on my head and scratched under my ears. I wasn’t too used to being
hugged and not all that sure I liked it, but I butted my head against her chin
a few times to let her know I thought she was okay.
The lady gave the shelter worker some money and they put me
in a little carrier and off I went. It was scary in the back seat of the car
and I cried for a long time. The last time I went for a ride like this, it
didn’t turn out so well. The lady talked to me and tried to make me feel
better. Then we were home. She carried me up, up, up the steps and into her
apartment. It was big and I didn’t know where anything was. She opened the
carrier and let me come out when I was ready. Well, I explored a bit, and then
she showed me my food and water dishes and my litter box. I had my own private
bathroom! But I got scared because I wasn’t sure where I was and what might
happen next. I needed to get up high where I could keep an eye on things, so I
leaped up onto the kitchen counter, then the refrigerator, then the top of the
cabinets.
I was the Queen of the World. And I found a secret place to
hide—inside one of the cabinets in an empty space next to the wine glasses.
She’d never find me there. So I thought. But the lady called to me and called
to me and started opening doors and I was found. I did this a few times until I
realized this lady was probably okay. She just wanted to love me.
So I came out of the cupboard and let her scratch my chin.
And then I rescued her.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Did I mention my mom's a writer? She wrote a romance novel that includes the theme of animal rescue and benefits the Tunica Humane Society. Check it out!
