Get Back, Honky Cat

I have never been a cat person. From a young age I developed allergies to cat dander and affectionate cat licks that felt like sandpaper. Just being in the house of a cat owner for a few hours left my throat red and scratchy, my nose perpetually running, and hives popping up like goosebumps on my pale forearms. Aside from physical reactions, I also didn't particularly like the personality of most cats. I always felt a twinge of annoyance while cat-sitting for a family member or friend; a sense that I had to prove to the cat that I was the superior intellectual being. I didn't like that they perched high up like Snoopy from "The Peanuts," and observed me scooping out their nauseating wet food and waited until I left to stretch leisurely down to the latest Fancy Feast flavor and fresh water.

Growing up, my parents rescued a racing Greyhound from Florida that was due to be put down at age 3. She lived until the ripe old age of 11 and the tattooed number in her ear never faded. My second dog was a surprise drive to the rescue center with my mother for my 16th birthday; my father refused to go on the grounds that he would adopt all of the animals. We found Juno, a 2 year old, trembling, whippet-mix from Puerto Rico, with spindly little legs that made her look like a shrunken prancing pony. I grew up with dogs, dogs who always were happy to see me and were content to be dressed in my Princess Jasmine costume, and dogs that my family let loose at the high school track and had to explain to startled spectators that our Greyhound, was, in fact, an actual dog.

My boyfriend, LJ, grew up in Riverside County, CA, parents and siblings amassing a 10 person household, each with their own collection of members of the animal kingdom. LJ had a California King Snake and an all black German Shepard named Shadow, his sisters and brothers had cats, dogs, rodents, and reptiles–you name it, he or a sibling owned it. When I first mentioned to LJ that I did not particularly care for cats he waved me off with the usual cat-lover line, "you just have to meet the right cat." When I explained further about my allergies, this seemed to stump him, until I regrettably brought up allergy shots I knew a childhood friend had gotten so he could have his cat. Ugh. Shots. I remember the first round of shots being once a month, then once every three months, and then once every six months. Apparently me bringing this up was the go-ahead that at some point in our future, a cat may be sauntering over the horizon.

In early December of 2018, LJ called from his sister's house, one of the destinations on a short road trip cobbled together with vacation time. I was half asleep for the first part of the conversation, but woke right up when I heard the word "cat." LJ's sister, Janice, had been watching a man across the way for a few weeks, and was going to call SPCA regarding his treatment of his cat, when he suddenly up and moved, leaving the cat behind. Janice half ran, half flew across the street, scooped up the mistreated cat, and named her "Imp." When LJ arrived, Imp had only been living with his sister for a few months, but was evidently quite comfortable. LJ watched her come and go through the cat door, every hour or so coming back to gently bump heads with Janice before sauntering back outside. By the end of the evening Imp was doing the same to LJ. Here is when Janice must have sighed sadly and looked at her brother forlornly from under thick eyelashes. She told him that her and her family were moving to an apartment building that did not allow cats; if she couldn't find someone to take Imp, she would have to be given to the SPCA. LJ sent me blurry photos of a small, calico colored cat, stretching up from the floor to rest her paws on Janice's pant leg, leaning into her cupped hand.

How could anyone say no? On Christmas Eve we packed up the Buick and drove round-trip to go get Imp and bring her home with us.

"I'll just be a second," LJ carefully handed me the end of the leash, and I slipped the loop of polyester and nylon over my wrist, making sure there was no way I could drop it. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, and in the way he kept glancing back at me and Imp on the way to the gas station mart. Imp was in what I now call the "turtle position," of being as low to the ground as possible with all extremities (and tail) beneath her. I made the clicking noise I had always heard people make at cats and reached down to stroke her back. As she stood up, I realized with no small amount of panic that her front left foot had come out of the harness completely. She seemed to notice this too, sticking her paw back in the hole, and pulling it back out. She looked up at me.

"No. No, please don't. Plea–"

Too late.

Imp was gone in a matter of seconds, and it was too dark to even see what direction she had fled in. Adrenaline flooded all my senses and I immediately stopped myself from screaming her name, as I had been told cats do not respond to this (I do not believe this is only restricted to cats), and slowly began circling the car, to see if she had just skittered behind a wheel. I was checking the last tire when LJ came bounding across the parking lot, all smiles and backlit by fluorescent lights. I watched him shut down as he took in the scene: me, standing motionless with tears in my eyes, holding an empty harness with a leash bound to my wrist. Oh God. He's going to think I did this on purpose. Why did I tell him I didn't like cats? My thoughts began to spiral; is this something that could end a relationship? Does he really think I would do this on purpose, and even if he didn't, could he forgive me anyway? We split into search teams; I took the neighborhood streets off to the left of the gas station, and LJ took the parking lot. We met back at the car 45 minutes later, both out of breath and our voices horse. We sat in the dark, cold, car, staring straight ahead at the closed garage. I felt awful. Poor Imp, taken from a home, not knowing where she was headed, with people she had only met once. I might have taken off too, if not for the cold. I couldn't take the silence anymore. I lifted my gaze off the steering wheel and turned to face LJ.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, LJ, I didn't think she–"

LJ suddenly shot his arm across the car and into the padded coat over my ribs, gently pressing me against the seat and putting an index finger to his lips. I could see where his eyes were trained, on one particular vehicle next to the mechanic's garage. He very slowly grabbed the bag of dried cat food near his feet, opened the door, and slunk on his belly towards a small, rusty brown truck. He stopped a good 5 feet away from the front bumper, and extended a long arm to dump a small pile of dry cat food just under the car. I leaned forward to see over the dashboard and held my breath. I saw the flash of a pair of small eyes. Ever so cautiously, Imp took one tentative step at a time towards the food pile, eying LJ on the ground. He used the toes of his sneakers to slide himself across the concrete and closed the remaining distance between him and the truck. I watched, fingernails in mouth, as LJ scooped up Imp and high stepped it back to the car, where he collapsed into the passenger seat.

Relief hit the entire car like that moment when you plunge into the water off a diving board. After about a half-hour of sitting in shell shocked silence while I began driving the last stretch of highway, we ended up laughing to the point of tears. Laughing because I told him I thought he would think I did it on purpose, laughing at the image in his head of a wide-eyed me holding an empty harness, and laughing at the incredible, miraculous ways in which the universe works that we not only found Imp, but she was less than 10 feet away the entire time.

EPILOGUE (and photos of course)

For the first week with Imp, while we got her settled in, making caves for her to hide in around our room, going a little overboard at pet stores, I waited for the allergies. Waited for the never-ending stuffed up nose, watering eyes, itchy throat. I waited and waited and...nothing. Despite being allergic to every cat I have ever come in contact with, for some reason I am not allergic to Imp. From what we know about Imp's past, her previous owner (the one LJ's sister was going to confront) was not a nice person to put it mildly. Imp was absolutely terrified of plastic bags, anything releasing carbonation, and her and I currently have the most extravagant game of "vacuuming the apartment" I've ever had to play with a pet. I take it out, set it on the floor so she knows it's coming, and she sneaks off to the bedroom. When I turn it off and bring it into the bedroom, I make sure she has made herself comfy in the living room, hairless, alas, for less than 5 minutes.

Imp was in rough shape when we made her first vet appointment. She weighed in at 6lbs, her hair was dull, and balding patches were spotted along her spine. The vet gave her a full check-up, made sure that she was fixed, had a GPS chip installed, and gave her back to us with a fancy flea/tick collar for outdoor cats. LJ took point on all cat-related research. He has lists of "approved" foods (dry and wet), treats, litter, and even cat toys.

The first apartment we lived with Imp was in a quiet enough neighborhood that she could still be an outside cat, which we thought was good for her. That however, depends on what your outside cat does. I awoke in the middle of one night to something wet dragging across my face. I touched it and squinted at my fingertips. Black? Oil. Oh no. It seemed that Imp had taken to sleeping under cars on various lawns that were not in use, and that particular night, came strutting in with a huge rorschach test on her back inked in motor oil.

I snatched her off of the bed and LJ wrapped her in a towel while I grabbed the special soap the vet had given us for occasions such as these. The complaining and the noises that came out of Imp that day will not soon be forgotten. We unfolded the towel enough to expose the oil but not her claws, and I gently rubbed the soap into the oil, using a small cup to rinse away the oil. Imp did not care how gentle I was being, nor how secure she was in LJ's arms, she was not having it. At the end of the ordeal, all three of us covered in water, Imp perched on my bookshelf, comical bits of wet hair clumped together like Einstein, glaring at us until her need for body heat overrode her shame.

Due to LJ's diligence in researching foods, treats, etc., Imp's hair began to noticeably fill in, and not just in girth (where the bald spots were) and fluffiness, but with brighter colors as well. I finally started to bond with Imp through brushing her. We were on tepid ground at first, seeing her "Snoopy Vulture" pose sent my memories spiraling back to some of the not-so-nice cats I had met. Within weeks she had taken over my pillow(s) and was quite accommodating as I rolled her gently on her back to brush her billowy white undercoat, rolling her again to fluff up and brush her back, sides, and neck, creating a beautiful sheen in combination with her new diet.

The following summer we moved into an apartment that unfortunately is next to the most dangerous, free-for-all intersection I've ever seen. This intersection defies explanation without visual aid, so the best I can offer is this: imagine if some disgruntled Libertarian drove through with a cement truck and then yelled "figure it out!" while driving away. LJ did purchase a leash and (better) harness, as we have a small lawn, but Imp was startled so much by the sound of passing cars that that experiment ended abruptly. I had read that moving is more stressful for cats than it is for dogs, so we made sure to have most of our stuff in our new apartment before bringing Imp, who surprisingly seemed quite laid back about the whole situation:

We did think a lot about Imp's transition from an outdoor cat to an indoor one, and the main focus was exercise. So, in our tiny apartment, we installed a floor-to-ceiling suspension pole wrapped in sisal rope for cat scratching and attached platforms and hammocks to jump on, around, and in. LJ uses her wand toy on the tower and she loves it, she even chases her own tail! We weren't sure how she would react to the hammocks but she loves the one closest to the ceiling (out of frame in photo below) when she wants to be alone. We can see the tips of her ears poking out the top and we might get a trill when we walk past, but we know she needs her alone time.

Imp is much more affectionate with strangers, and while she is getting older she is still just as energetic, loves her toys, and comes running when she hears the front door open or the particular plastic of the catnip bottle. We've had visitors that have commented on how "small your kitty is!" and they are taken aback when we tell them she's between 8 and 10 years old! She still wakes us up as she sprints across the hardwood floor, skidding to a stop as a toy rolls under furniture at 5:30am, only to settle down for one of her naps as we hit the last snooze button we possibly can before we have to get up. She has more beds than we do, but she likes ours better, rolling around on blankets just out of the dryer, and tunneling into our sheets to make a suspicious cat shaped lump under the comforter that trills when you poke it.

The jury is still out on whether or not I am a "cat person," but I can say with certainty that I am an Imp person. I love puttering around the house and feeling a tail wrap around my leg as Imp moves from the couch to the window, a little check-in that never ceases to delight me. I love getting into bed, Imp patiently waiting until we are settled before jumping up and settling down between us, vying for pets until we all fall asleep together. I love movie nights, her favorite blanket spread across our laps and her tummy upturned, waiting for scratches and stretching her legs and toes out. I love how comfortable she is with us, and how much comfort she brings both of us.

Over the past few years of geopolitical turmoil, the COVID-19 pandemic, and the general uncertainty of the world we now live in, I have found solace in my relationship with Imp–in the many little things she does to bring light into our lives.