Joy

I miss my cats. I miss Eli and I miss Gus terribly. They kept my feet and my hands warm and welcomed me at the door. They are the ones, both of them, who passed away in my closet, one of them in my arms and the other who refused to pass away in front of me and avoided it at all costs. Within a year of each other.
  

So when Adam started saying to me, "Mommy, please. Please, I'd really like a kitty." I was skeptical. Did he really? Was he ready? The bigger question was: Was I?

Adam has always been a cat person. I got Eli years ago for a boyfriend. When we broke up (within the year after adopting him), I took him back without a question or a second's guess, because he really didn't want or need him, and I did. Eli was 9 years old when Adam was born, and immediately, Eli was Adam's cat. He sat with him, loved him and was always, always, just perfect for a tiny kid. And Adam was never cruel or overly aggressive with him, ever.

Eli passed away two days before Christmas in 2012, When Adam was 2 and a half. Two months ago, (a year later) when Aunt Ra Ra was showing Adam pictures of her cat, Rocco, on her phone, Adam ran to the computer desk and whipped out a picture of Eli. He said, "This is my cat, Eli." Gus passed away on November 15, 2013. Gus had always been and will always be my cat. He was 14 years old and I watched him deteriorate with no ability to do anything for him. Gus had a thyroid condition that mysteriously was exaggerated immediately after Eli's death, and though the medicine was supposed to help, it also aggravated a liver condition that apparently had been there for a while. Gus rode it out as long as he could, and though I question it daily, I know there was no way I could let him be put down in a cold veterinarian's office that he didn't know. Many people have to and that's the right thing. I couldn't. He tried his best to be "okay," until the day he died.

I broke down that day, but I didn't know it. The next day was the first day that I ventured out to try to be a "professional" photographer, or at least to try to see if I liked it or was good enough to give it a shot. I immersed myself in that, hoping that I'd be okay. And I was. That day. And for the two weeks after where I stayed so busy I could barely concentrate on brushing my teeth, let alone the fact that I'd lost my best friend. But my stress level has been through the roof since then and the house still feels lonely.


So, two months after Gus passed away, when I was helping Adam search for "his cat," I felt... guilty. And really, really good for him. I knew what to look for and I knew what he needed, and I wanted him to pick out "his" cat all on his own.

"Mommy, please. I want a kitty cat." No tears. No fits. No screaming bratty screams. Just clear: "Yes. Please, please. I want a cat for me."

I love, absolutely adore, our dog Caley. She is literally the best dog that could ever walk this planet. I would argue with anyone about that. Anyone. But I get it, Adam's pleas for a cat. I did understand, as a cat person.

So Adam and I went to one rescue shelter, and they showed us this adorable little orange cat named Ariel. They bonded, but it wasn't... I don't know, it wasn't a real bond. She liked toys, he liked cats and waving toys around, and rescue shelter wanted us to take both her and her sister. Who was also wonderful. But it was the first place we went, so after we stopped by the Plano animal shelter and found Pumpkin. A six year old very chill cat who was declawed, good with dogs, kids, the whole works. We decided. Adam called him "Yogi" immediately, and it was written... "Yogi" was our cat. I called them within 30 minutes and told them we were coming back to get him. We were there within the hour and they were already adopting him to another couple. Adam was confused, and sad, and kept asking where "Yogi" was... and I was fighting back tears. I get it, the cat got adopted even though we claimed him already and knew we were coming for him. But I had to handle a very sad three year old in the middle of a very busy animal shelter, asking very loudly why we weren't able to take our cat home. I was angry. Not that "Pumpkin" was getting adopted, but because I had made it clear we would be there in thirty minutes and it hadn't registered to that person that it meant anything in our lives. I explained it to Adam, and we left after looking at another cat who clearly did not want to have anything to do with children. Great cat... not our cat.


I had taken the week off of work, Shannon was out of town, and the kids all went to school. I ran some errands and did some chores and picked Adam up to take him to lunch and then a trip downtown to the Dallas SPCA, intending to follow through with our quest. We looked at one orange young cat, who was terrified, and knew that our house was only going to make her more terrified. We looked at a little, black, tailless kitten who had more energy than Adam and I knew that would probably not end well. Adam kept telling me the kitten looked "scared," and I whispered, "is it really you who's scared?" "yes."

Then we looked at "Beth." She was energetic, fearless, cuddly and sweet, and he liked her. She didn't come at him with her claws, and in the final test, I asked him to hold her. When he did, she went limp.

I said, "do you like her?"
"Yes, Mommy, let's take her home."

We did. It was a long wait in the adoption center for her to get the final check out, and I ask what we should name her.

"Joy Like A Fountain."
"Can we call her 'Joy' for short?"
"Yeah!"

She sat next to him the entire way home and cried and reach for him. He kept asking if she had claws and I told him yes, but it didn't seem like she liked to use them.

When we brought her home, they encouraged us to keep her in "her room" (Adam's room) for 10 days. She cried after 10 minutes and happily faced all three kids and Caley without a whimper, and didn't even hide. So I didn't. She was determined to not only fit in but be a presence in the house. In fact, on day 3 I found her on the kitchen table "inspecting" Colin's dinner. She quickly learned to stand next to Caley and wait for dinner to be eagerly showered down... and to move fast, because Caley has seniority.

It took her about 5 days to realize that Caley was the safest person in the entire house, and now they are buddies.

That first night, as I was putting Adam to sleep, I made sure she knew that he was hers. This was her person. And from that moment on, she looked for him, let him carry her around the house, purred when he walked into a room. She's like a cat version of Adam - cute, brave, spunky, sweet to everyone, and a bit of a spaz. And they just click.

Claire spends lots of time lying on the floor talking to her and trying to share her stuffed animals. I think Claire adores her and wants a kitten of her own.

Colin spends a lot of time chasing her around the house, pulling her tail, meowing at her and hitting her with his lovies. She is very wary of Colin, but I think he'll get the idea eventually -- he just OVERLY loves her and likes the way he gets to play with Caley. ROUGH. However, she just takes it. And she comes back for more. Maybe she likes the abuse, or really doesn't mind giving second (or 50th) chances.
 

 

"Is this the right way to hug a cat?"

I had hopes that Adam's frequent nightmares would be better if he had a "buddy" with him to help him feel safe. But now we just have him and a kitten curled up in our bed at 3 am every night. Oh well. At least they are happy together.

About two weeks later, Joy ate holes in Adam's baby blanket. I have no idea why she did it - she doesn't do it to other blankets and it's very random. Adam was sad, and was mad at her for a few hours, but got over it. (Of course, he asked for a new one, and I knew it was discontinued but was able to find a new one on ebay. I also found a used one that they were selling for more than I originally spent.) We're going to patch up his old one but have a back up on it's way just in case.

Joy is going to Show and Tell to meet Adam's class tomorrow. I know she'll do great.