Belly

Like most cat parents, I live by The Monsters’ schedule. There’s five furry overlords that dictate my life; if I’m not up by 9AM, I have at least one, if not more, crawling all over me, screaming for their breakfasts. 5PM on the dot and they start crying about how neglected and starved they are until they get their second offering of Friskies.

With five of them running the house, I live a life of regretting my daily choice of wearing all black. Cat hair shows particularly well on my choice of wardrobe and I’m certain they’re aware and make sure to leave as much as they can.

If you’ve ever had cats in your life, you know that The Belly is always a trap. Your baby is curled up like a weirdly colored banana, paws up, and nice, fat belly out and tempting you to sink your hand right in. And you also know the moment you do that, you’ve forfeit a blood price that your cat will happily take out on that hand. It’s instinctual, of course, The Belly is a vulnerable spot on cats and they want to protect that.

But, oh lord, it’s so tempting to touch.

I learned that lesson the hard way, many, many times as a kid, and I have the battle scars on my hands to prove it. The Belly was available for dogs, not cats. But in 2015, my views on that changed dramatically.

I adopted Clairmont alongside his kennel-mate when my partner and I were, as I always called it, visiting the inmates at Petsmart. Originally, we had only been looking at Benjamin, a friendly, flirty long-haired tuxedo who immediately began prancing along the plexiglass for my partner’s attention. We weren’t planning on adopting a fourth cat, much less a fifth, but my partner looked over into the corner of the kennel and slapped my shoulder so hard I almost lost my balance from where I was crouched.

Hiding in the little enclosure Petsmart always offer in their kennels, I saw this sweet, brown tabby staring at the two of us with the largest green eyes I’d ever seen. He was obviously terrified and my heart couldn’t have hurt more in that moment. I did the paperwork that afternoon and, after speaking with Ben and Clair’s foster mom, I took them home within a week.

At the beginning, I had the two of them locked in my office for the adjustment period. Ben was doing just fine getting used to the new house; crawling into my lap when I was on my computer, talking all the time, getting to know the other cats when they were allowed in.

Clair, on the other hand, could barely been seen for those first few days. He’d squeeze himself into the smallest spaces he could, trying to make sure he couldn’t be found. Whenever I went to look for him, I’d always see those big, green eyes first; my partner and I used to call them “Eyeore” eyes because of how sad they always made him look. It took almost a week before I found him in a new hiding spot; a little, red tunnel bed I put in there. He’d curl up at the very back of it, still looking out at me with those sad eyes whenever I checked on him.

I spoke again with the foster mother, a sweet, older woman who rescued and cared for fosters for a living, and she told me Clairmont was always skittish, but had on exception.

Belly rubs.

Now, I’ll admit, I was skeptical at first. I’ve had cats my whole life; belly rubs were a trap and the feline would rather eat your hand than accept them. But, the foster mom told me to try it, so I figured I’d take the scratches if I needed to.

I remember it was a sunny, warm day, and I had kept the curtains open so the boys could enjoy the sunbeams. Clair was hiding in the tunnel bed as usual, and Ben was enjoying one of the beams right next to it. Since I didn’t want to take him out of his comfy hiding spot, I laid down next to it and just watched him. There was those big, green eyes staring at me from the tunnel.

When I reached in and started to pet him, he was so quiet, but he didn’t move away or flinch from my hand. Once he was used to petting me, I started scratching at the side of his belly; honestly, I thought he’d growl or flinch or even swipe at me. Instead, as I got closer and closer to The Belly, Clairmont actually started to roll, giving me more access. I was shocked; my hand should have been in tatters at that point, but he was letting me sink my fingers into a soft, white belly and scratch.

Like a switch flipped, Clair rolled onto his back and closed those green eyes. I had full access to that soft belly and took full advantage. After a couple of minutes, I heard a rumbling noise and it took me a second to realize—Clair was actually purring. This was amazing; Clair had been silent since day one. Pretty sure my partner would tell you I was grinning like an idiot as I lay there, petting our new baby and getting purrs out of it.

If you’ve never had a pet that started skittish or scared, the feeling of gaining even a little bit of trust is like nothing else. I must’ve stayed there for over half an hour, just basking in the feeling. I felt like I’d finally gotten somewhere with him, that maybe he’d be okay now.

Years later and, right now, I know for a fact that he’s made himself a cocoon in my comforter with my tortie, sleeping his day away. He’s the sweetest cat; fat, happy, and chatty. Clair loves to crawl on my chest and sleep with me at night. He loves everyone that comes through the door. He’s a complete 180 from that day in the office, and I couldn’t be happier for it.

Now, I think I hear that The Belly is in some need of attention. Maybe I’ll get some purrs and get to relive that memory again.