A Life Given

This little short story is about how my cat saved my life just as much as I saved his. Trigger Warning: this story has brief mentions of self harm and mental illness.

I have struggled with depression my entire life, and in high school it was especially hard to deal with and manage. I had been struggling extremely my senior year. The pressure of grades, my high school romance drama, and home life being a mess, all just made it too much to handle at times. I had started to self harm in order to deal with the numbness and pain I felt. Until I finally found Him.

I first met Charmander my senior year of high school. I was working part time at a locally run cat rescue called Loving Hearts. A very sweet older lady Phillis runs it still to this day. It was basic work: clean the cages, litter boxes, feed and water, and help comb out matts and treat infections. I loved it, and knew that I wanted to bring a cat home with me. I just hadn't found the right one yet.

It was winter, and very very cold out. I had just gotten to Phillis's' house to help out, and gladly went inside the warm garage where it was all set up. Took off my coat and got to work. Most of the cages had been done, and water swapped out when Phillis came into the room in a huff. She quickly told me to get two of our small carriers, wet food, and a blanket. I did so as fast as I could, I had never seen her so worked up. We got into her car and headed out. She had just left a Walmart near us, and on her way out had found a litter of kittens. There was blood around them and refused to leave the car they were hiding under. It broke my heart to see, it looked like the mom had given birth, but wasn't strong enough to survive in the cold snow. It had been days since she had passed.

Slowly, one by one, we coaxed the kittens out with the smell of the wet food. only one wouldn't come out, and was the smallest of the bunch. I had to crawl under the car to get to it. I finally got ahold of the little one, and managed to wiggle my way out again. On the ride to the vets office, I held it up front with me, inside my coat. Scared it wouldn't survive, I held it close to my chest, and kept a finger on it's stomach to make sure it was breathing. Once at the vets, they were all checked and warmed up. Most were around 2-3 pounds, only a few weeks old. The vets were surprised any of the kittens had survived the cold, let alone the one I was holding.

We found out there were three girls, and the one boy. He only weighed a measly 1 pound. He was close to dying, and the vet was almost positive he wouldn't last the next few days. I took him back and said I would personally make sure he lived. So, I did. I took him home, made a small bed for him in a shoebox, and fed him every two hours. he slowly started to show improvement. School was so hard, but thankfully my mom helped me out with the feeding and such when I was in class.

As the days went on, he got better. He eventually opened his eyes, started walking around my room, and getting more energy. It made my day to see him hoping around and tackling my shoelaces. I hadn't picked a name yet, and decided to finally do so. I loved Pokémon, and had the three starters: Pikachu, Charmander, and Bulbasaur. I set them up, and figured whichever one he would attack would be his name. He went straight for the Charmander plushie, and that was that. I've called him Char, Charmander, and Baby Boy since. He cuddles with me every night, and is the most loving cat ever(and he got fat!). I've not had as many bad days. He keeps me smiling and laughing. He now looks after and cuddles with my daughter as well. He's saved my life in more ways than I can count, and I will always remember the day I saved his.