The King of Headbutts

Animals are special creatures.

They come into our lives at important and sometimes unexpected moments. Occasionally, you'll come across a dog who turns your whole day around or a cat who saunters over and demands a belly rub (for exactly 0.2 seconds or your hand is toast, my friend). Who hasn't been at a friend's house and felt like they were the most important person in the world because the cat chose to sit on their lap?

I have always felt a deep connection with the animals in my life. They are these little furry creatures who do not judge. They don't care if you did poorly on a paper or messed up at work. They are there for you no matter what. All they want is for you to come home at the end of the day, give them some scritches and maybe some food.

When I moved out of my parent's house for good, it was a massive change. I had lived away from home before, but this was different. This was a step into adulthood, and I knew I'd never go back if I could help it.

One thing I did not consider when I left, was leaving my family pets behind. I kind of took for granted being able to come home and hoist my tiny, old lady cat, Chloe onto my shoulder and carry her around. I missed her tiny meows and her even tinier paws. I missed my dog Abby, and how excited she got when I took her on a W-A-L-K. There was this massive fluffy-shaped hole in my heart and my apartment felt so, so empty.

Within a week of living alone, I knew I needed a pet to keep me company. I needed the pitter-patter of paws, that low belly rumble and as many cuddles as possible.

Every year, the Ontario SPCA has an Adopt-a-thon event where humane societies from all over bring their animals in hopes they'll all get adopted. It just so happened this event was happening two weeks after my move. I had just settled into my place and figured, hey, why not take on even more responsibility to fill this furry-shaped hole in my heart.

I borrowed a cat crate and went down to the exhibition center with a couple of my friends, excited about the opportunity ahead. This little creature would be mine, and mine alone. I built up all of these expectations in my head of how awesome it was going to be. Just me and this little kitty taking on the world!

As soon as I walked through the doors, I knew I made a mistake. Turns out if you don't arrive SUPER early your chances of getting a pet are pretty slim. Every cage I passed by had a sign that read, "ADOPTED".

My heart sank.

I walked around in a daze, hoping beyond hope that there would be at least one cat available to bring home. Hell, at this point I would’ve taken a gerbil or even a squirrel! I returned to my friends, pit in my stomach, trying not to cry. Just as we were about to leave, I told them I was going to take one final look around.

This time, I got to the very end of the row of cages and saw a cat I hadn’t seen before. He was surrounded by ADOPTED signs, but he didn’t have one himself. He was a black cat, his name was Ares, and he had a tiny little white patch on his chest that reminded me of a bow tie.

I knew immediately, he was mine.

I sprang into action, and practically ran over the adoption agent when I told her what cat I wanted. She was super friendly and mentioned that people seemed to overlook Ares because he was a black cat. Apparently, people STILL have weird superstitions about having black cats in their homes. Not me though. Black cats are freaking sweet.

I loaded him up in his crate, and he did not seem nervous at all. He meowed all the way home in an attempt to get as many scritches as possible through the crate door.

As soon as I let him out into my apartment, he acted like he owned the place. He climbed onto bookshelves, onto the sink, explored every inch of my apartment.

He was perfection. He was my partner in crime. He was my Helo.

Over the next few weeks, we really got to know each other. Helo absolutely loved to cuddle. If I was on the couch, cuddle. If I was in my computer chair, eff you stop it, cuddle me. He did this super adorable thing where he'd put his paws together and push them toward me like he was praying to the God of cuddles when I wasn't paying full attention to him.

Helo also had and still has the loudest, meow I have ever heard. If he did not get attention right away, he would demand attention. Didn't matter if this was in the middle of the night, or not. Every night he would sleep curled around my head and meow directly in my ear. Not ideal when you are a human who needs to get their 8hrs to function properly the next day.

Despite his quirks, I had to admit he was everything I wanted in a cat. He was friendly, confident and knew what he wanted... which was cuddles in case you didn't pick up on that before.

One of his more attention-seeking behaviours was his ability to headbutt so hard he'd make you see stars. If I was on the couch watching a movie and he felt like he wasn't getting the attention he deserved, he would crawl up onto my chest and headbutt me directly in the face.

Now, some might say this kind of behaviour is adorable and I thought so too, for a while. But after 2 weeks of this kind of clingy codependent behaviour, I started to feel a little bit claustrophobic. I could not get away from this cat. I could not have two minutes to myself, not even to use the bathroom. If I closed the door to go pee he'd shove his little arms under the door like a zombie from the Walking Dead.

The universe gave me what I asked for and it was too much.

My first serious panic attack occurred a few weeks after I got Helo. The stress of work, of affording my own apartment and the need to take care of this tiny, always meowing, headbutting creature, all built up to a point where I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. I put this intense pressure on myself, and it complied. I felt like I wasn't good enough. Like I was failing at life, at being an adult.

I locked myself in the bathroom and just cried and played Mario Kart for about an hour while Helo pounded on the door and demanded to be let in. I was hiding from him and from all of my responsibilities.

Once I calmed down a little bit I opened the door and he came charging in. He looked around the room, climbed up onto my lap and studied my face closely. After a few moments, he gave me a head butt, started to purr and curled up in my lap on the bathroom floor.

I silently began to sob again, because I realized this creature didn't care that I was anxious, or depressed. He didn't think I was a failure. He just wanted to be close to me. He loved me unconditionally.

I have now had Helo for close to 6 years. He's almost 12 years old and we have added another black cat to our little family. Despite how annoying Helo can be, I wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.

The universe knew I needed a little unconditional love at that point in my life, and it gave it to me, hard, with a headbutt.