Lucky Black Kitten

When I was 22, I moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment for 500 dollars a month. But I did not move into an unoccupied space, upon moving in I discovered I had at least one squatter. A bold little mouse who was not afraid of people and would often take strolls across my bedroom floor. Now I grew up in a row house and living that close to other people, the occasional pest isn’t unheard of, but my family always kept a cat, and I was discovering why. So after two weeks in my new apartment, I headed up to a local shelter to adopt a cat.

There was a line when I arrived at the shelter. Several families ahead of me were perusing the cats while I filled out paperwork, and I worried I wouldn’t get a kitten from the shelter’s limited supply. Everyone wants a kitten. But when I stepped into their cat kennels, I was thrilled to discover they had lots of kittens, and I took my time meeting each one, this would be the first living thing that was 100% my responsibility, and after some bad experiences with cats growing up, I was determined to choose the right one. And then I saw her. Not to be cheesy, but it was love at first sight. Nylah was easily the neediest little black kitten in the place. She meowed, purred, and pressed herself against the bars whenever someone passed by. I immediately loved her.

When I first got Nylah, she was only a month old, and she could fit in the palm of my hand. She’d been found alone in someone’s back yard and Nylah sat in the kennel for two weeks before I showed up. She was in dire need of affection and not shy about demanding it, but outside of that, she was quiet and reserved. She liked to sleep in the space between my neck and shoulder, and when she came home, my unwanted guest vacated, it’s like her presence alone let him know it was time to go. Like I said, I loved her.

Unfortunately, this isn’t just a happy story about the time I adopted my cat, that would be too easy. After two days, I noticed that I hadn’t had to fill Nylah’s bowl...like at all. Her water and food were still full and her litter box was empty. Now, like I said, Nylah is the first thing I’ve had sole responsibility for, but I was pretty sure not eating was…bad.

So I called my mom, and on the brink of tears like emotional cancer I am, I asked what to do. Per my mom's advice, I called a local vet and explained the situation, in the least assuring way possible, they told me to bring my cat in immediately. So I poked some holes in a box packed Nylah inside and headed off. If I wasn’t already internally panicking enough, when the veterinarian walked into the examination room, they were dressed in hazmat gear. HAZMAT GEAR for my tiny little kitten.

They explained they expected Nylah had a very contagious, very deadly disease called feline panleukopenia. There is no cure for FP, there’s medication to help with symptoms, but other than that a cat’s immune system has to fight off FP on its own. Like humans, viruses in cats are most dangerous for babies, the elderly, and those with compromised immune systems. I was told at 6 weeks, Nylah’s chance of survival was less than 5%.

I was destroyed. I’d only had her two days, but I love hard and quickly, and I loved her. Because ACCT gave me a sick cat, they gave me the very expensive medication for free and wished me luck. The virus that causes FP doesn’t affect humans, but it is very hard to kill and can infect a cat more than once, so it was important I kept Nylah quarantined so she didn’t get sick again on the chance she survived. I was told the virus normally ran its course in seven days and because she’d already been sick two days if I could keep her alive another 3, she would most likely survive.

I kept Nylah in the bathroom, and whenever I wasn’t at work, I was in the bathroom with her. I bought a few blankets from five and below and slept in the bathroom with her, I kept her nourished and hydrated with medication on spoons and syringes, I watched Netflix on my bathroom floor and I prayed. Nylah still slept in the crook of my neck. After three days, I let myself breathe, after four days, Nylah started to eat, and after six days, I let her out of the bathroom.

. Four years later, my Nylah is a furious, cuddly ball of energy (turned out she wasn’t reserved or quiet, just sick). They say black cats are bad luck, but my little Nylah was the luckiest.