Content warning: pet death, grief.
I felt like I was stealing a cat. Like I walked into someone’s house, pointed at the cute but terrified orange kitty, said “I want that one,” and walked away from two crying millennials with their precious baby. I didn’t, to be clear, but the two millennial foster parents were indeed crying when I left.
After a week of my own tears over my cat who had died from heart failure, I decided it was time to look for a new cat. One who was young, playful, and without any glaring medical issues. Adopting an old cat was the best thing I ever did, but I couldn’t go through the vet visits, the ER trips, and the pain of losing an animal after only being in my life for two years and eleven months.
I browsed the Atlanta Humane Society website and found Opie. He was a seven-month-old orange cat who liked to play and snuggle. The two things I needed. Even though my fiance and I discussed waiting for marriage to get another cat, I just couldn’t live in an empty apartment until then. I filled out the application, and we both went to visit him when we got back from our homes after Christmas break.
We walked into a house with two other cats, one a large orange tabby who let me pet him, and another impossibly tiny fully grown calico who ran when I approached her. The couple led us into a home office filled with cat toys. Opie hid in the corner as we entered. He braved going into his foster mom’s lap a couple of times, but kept his distance. She talked about how amazing he was, and that he came out of his shell after a day of being in the house.
The foster mom then gave us some space to hang out with the little guy. We talked about how he was the most beautiful cat we’d ever seen. He was a solid vibrant orange with stripes on his legs and tails, and swirls on his torso. We laughed about how ugly Buba was when we got him. He was skinny and matted and had a cone on for his eyelid surgery. Unlike Opie, he crawled into our laps and purred the whole time.
Buba was our cat from the beginning. And now we watched this small creature cowered in his cat tree, wondering if we should take a gamble based on the words of people we just met.
We placed the bet and walked out with a very scared cat.
We went back to my apartment where he stayed in the crate until he found it safe enough to bolt under the couch. I went to work the next morning, Opie still hiding, wondering what the hell I was doing. Was I just impulsive? Is this too soon? Am I trying to fill the void of an old gray cat with a cat who obviously wants to go back to a place where he was safe and happy?
I came back and he had moved from under the couch to under the cat tree behind nearby. I dangled a long felt strip in front of his face. He would watch it twirl or look up at me, piecing together that I was the one twirling it. Every once in a while he batted at the string while cautiously looking up.
After about ten minutes of that, Opie looked up at me, holding my gaze. Then he put his paws up on the couch, stretching before hopping up and crawling into my chest.
Stunned, I stayed silent as he rubbed his head against mine. Tentatively, I reached my arms around him and held his tiny body as he purred like a diesel engine. All I could do was cry as this small orange cat decided that I was trustworthy.
I cried for the familiar feelings of a cat’s love, and cried for the ways in which Opie wasn’t Buba. As he crawled into my lap, the grief and joy somehow found a way to fit together.
Now, after two weeks of living with this menace who I swear is already growing bigger, I’m living like I know he’s going to die. For a long time, part of me honestly believed that Buba would live forever. A small part of me now still believes he might come back to me. But the part of me that grows each day is the knowledge that for some reason living beings have either been blessed or cursed with mortality. Because of that, I need to take a lot of pictures, and not get too mad when the kitten in my life starts licking the pan I left on the counter while I’m at work. Life is short for humans, and it’s even shorter for cats. I wish I never had to learn that lesson, but living any other way will only rob you of the joy of being there before it ends.
Kate DeHaan started Calvin as an engineering major and graduated (’22) with a bachelor’s in writing. She is currently working as an executive assistant for Mercer University’s student affairs. She also writes her own blog (LosingKate.com), practices martial arts, and takes full advantage of her apartment’s pool.
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You’re such an amazing writer Kate!! Absolutely got enwrapped in the beautiful story you shared! Joy, grief, love, hope…so many emotions so delicately described!
Miss you loads and love this snippets into your awesome life!!
Awww thanks so much Jesse. I miss you a lot, and this means a lot 🙂