Binx and I: A "Tail" of Destiny

I always considered myself an animal lover, but never a cat person. The only cats I knew were my aunt’s, which were always hiding unless it was dinner time. I never had a cat growing up, only dogs because my father was allergic. I’m allergic, too—to both dogs and cats—but I could never live without a dog so I have simply come to terms with the fact that I will forever be on allergy medication. At one point, we seemed to be rivaling Noah’s Arc—my family had two dogs, two gerbils, two frogs, and two fish. I always considered myself an animal lover, but when it came down to the old cat vs dog debate, my answer was simple: dog. I have always been a dog lover. I still am. Yet I somehow ended up with a cat whom I absolutely adore and love with every beating crevice of my heart.

My life changed for the better one sunny afternoon: I had 15 minutes left of my lunch break when my mother texted me with a picture of a beautiful, sleek male black cat in a playful pose (pictured below). At this point, I had been working at my new job for several months and was starting to consider adopting a dog. The issue was that my job was demanding, and it wasn’t uncommon to be asked to work overtime on short notice. Therefore, training a puppy wasn’t ideal or conducive to my lifestyle at the moment. Before seeing the image of the kitten, I had considered adopting a cat, but one day in the future and never without having a dog first. I’ve always loved black cats and so I replied with a simple, “Cute! Whose cat is that?” Her reply was the story on Facebook that a family friend posted:

He was right:

“[Feral] kitten mortality rates are usually very high—often around 75%”

- Alley Cat Rescue http://www.saveacat.org/feral-kittens.html

My heart broke a little when I learned this. I called my mother and she convinced me that I should meet the kitten since our family friends lived not too far from my new apartment. After hanging up with her, I contacted our family friends and told them that I’m interested in adopting but would like to meet the kitty before committing.

The following evening, I found myself driving to their apartment, eagerly anticipating meeting my possible future furry companion. Interestingly enough, the closer I got, the more nervous I became. The more I considered adoption, the more I wanted to adopt this kitten, and so the more I worried I became that something would go wrong. My thoughts kept running in circles in my head like a cat chasing its tail: Will I like him? Will he like me? Will we get along?

The meeting went by in a blur. I got reacquainted with my family friends whom I had not seen for a while and played with the kitten I came to see. His name was Max, and he was perhaps the most playful and rambunctious of his siblings. Max clumsily swatted at his favorite toy, a bumblebee teaser, as my friends told me the story of how they found the litter of five outside of their apartment complex June 10 and lured them into their apartment over the course of a day.

From then on, they were the foster parents for these kittens, taking care of their needs and physical wellbeing, as well as registering them with a non-profit animal rescue center for the ones who would go up for adoption. Not many people would take on a full litter of kittens in conjunction with their family cat, making sure that these strays were cared for and adopted—they were angels. Adopting two of the kittens themselves made their fur-baby count a total of three, and they found homes for two others. Max was the only one without a home and would soon be brought to PetSmart in the hopes that he would be adopted quickly. If he didn’t find a home from there and became too old for the store to sell, he would most likely end up in the shelter where the chance of him being adopted would dramatically dwindle.

After leaving their apartment, I called my mother to tell her how it went. As a true worry-wort and second-guesser, my decision kept swaying back and forth like a pendulum. Max seemed playful and cute, and I wanted to adopt him, but I was afraid of change and still doubted if he was the right cat for me. Her next words stuck with me: “It doesn’t matter what he is like, you will love him for who he is.”

I sat in silence the rest of the drive back to my apartment, trying to decide if I should adopt Max. While thinking, it dawned on me that there were a couple strange yet blatant coincidences between Max and myself: his favorite toy was a bumblebee teaser and the mascot of the college I recently graduated from was a bumblebee, and he was found on June 10 which was the exact same day I started my job—an important date that brought me to this city in a different state just a few months prior. I am a believer in signs, and all signs pointed to adopting this beautiful baby boy.

Yet when it came down to it, signs or no signs, my heart filled with joy at the prospect of adopting him, and that is how I knew for certain that I wanted Max in my life. As soon as I entered my apartment that evening after returning home from meeting Max, I texted my family friends with the confirmation that I wanted to adopt him and asked if they could bring him over tomorrow evening to move in.

The next morning, I realized it probably wasn’t the best idea to have Max move over so quickly, but it was Labor Day weekend, which allotted me an extra day off work, and seemed to be the most opportune time for him to move in and get acclimated. Proceeding as planned, I found myself in the middle of PetSmart with an empty cart, clueless as to what to buy. I knew next to nothing about taking care of a cat. The experience was like a bad joke: How many people does it take to help the confused new cat-lady to buy feline necessities, and how long? Answer: three employees, two other people via text, Google, and several hours. After that experience and countless research, I now consider myself an expert.

I had everything prepared for his arrival that evening—my neighbor, a life-long cat mom, was a huge help. I was so excited I thought my heart would burst into confetti. Max seemed to enjoy the apartment and quickly took to the place, exploring every nook and cranny like the curious kitty he still is to this day.

After my friends inspected the apartment, I signed the papers and finalized his adoption—it was official, he was now my beautiful baby.

Before signing, I informed them that I would like to change his name since I had a pet named Max when I was younger and it felt too weird to call him by that name. They assured me it was perfectly fine as he did not respond to Max and was not attached to it yet, so I had the next couple days to brainstorm. There wasn’t any difficulty as I had ideas in mind for years as to what I would name a black cat should I adopt one. The two finalists: Salem, from Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and Binx, from Hocus Pocus.

Salem, Sabrina the Teenage Witch

Binx, Hocus Pocus

The struggle was that I have always wanted to name a black cat Salem, but Binx sounded like it would fit his quirky personality. I tried to see which he responded to the most, but what ultimately made my decision was when he snuck into my closet and pulled down a shirt. Out of the hundreds of shirts I own, my Hocus Pocus shirt with an image of Binx on it was the one he pulled down. I took it as another sign. From that moment forward, he was known as Binx (or more affectionately, Binxie Baby Boy).

The first night he spent in his new forever home, Binx hopped into bed next to me, completely disregarding the brand-new cat bed on the floor, and fell asleep with his head on my shoulder. I had not slept well for weeks, but that night I drifted off into a deep sleep with a smile on my face and purring in my ears. From then on, Binx was a mama’s boy who liked his nighttime cuddles and always had to be within five feet of me. His foster parents told me that he was the only one of his siblings who cried at their door throughout the night... all he needed was love and the feeling of being wanted.

This dog-person found that her heart was big enough to love a cat.

The day after I adopted Binx, I logged onto Facebook and saw this post from my family friend:

I still often think about what would have happened if my friends had not rescued Binx, or I had not adopted him. Would he have been that one kitten in his litter to survive, or would he have been part of the 75% who didn’t? As his 2nd birthday approaches, I look at the big and healthy baby he has become (all 15 plus pound of him) with pure love and gratitude and absolutely no regrets. In the end, I didn’t rescue Binx, it was Binx who rescued me.