i had a very bad night on march 23rd 2016. the next day at work—i remember this very vividly—i was sitting at the stupid fucking rapid book scanner i ran, and thought to myself, "last night was VERY bad. what if i get a cat and that way i won't be able to kill myself if it gets that bad again." so i went on the MSPCA's website, browsed, and found my boy
i went straight from work to the MSPCA and met him in one of those 2x2x2 cages, where he was just sitting very quietly and very tense, and loved him immediately. the shelter staff told me that he was maybe two or three years old and had been brought in as a stray, but they suspected based on how he acted that he was someone's pet who got out. he was also a return: he was described on the site as shy and anxious, and an older couple had adopted him and thought they could provide a quiet home for him, but didn't factor their grandkids in. so he came back to the shelter and was looking for a forever home that didn't have kids, other cats, dogs, etc. so i, with my studio apartment, shitty job, and loud fucking mouth but only for singing and yelling at video games, filled out the paperwork immediately. i bought him with my 2015 tax refund. and then i realized i had no idea how i was going to get him from the shelter in southie to my apartment in brighton—i didn't think i could bring a cat in a carrier on the T without him freaking out. i ended up asking my friends' mom if she would mind terribly much picking me and maccallan [named after the scotch] up the next afternoon.
on later trips i found out his fear response was to freeze. he never did more than a little wailing at first on the way to the vet or during the five hour car ride from boston to NYC. when i got him home that first night, he disappeared into my apartment and i let him, but an hour or two later i was like "hm, where did this cat go" and started scouring the apartment, just to make sure he didn't somehow escape. when i finally did find him, he was curled up so small behind the toilet i had missed him on two other passes. after that his other two favorite hiding spots were behind the fridge in my shitty galley kitchen or balanced So Very Carefully ON TOP OF my baseboard heaters so that only the very tip of his tail could be seen under my bed.
he never stopped being anxious. it took literal years before he would just stay where he was if i sat up or stood up near him; he would always go alert and tense at any sound in the hallway; he got used to me when i was standing and i could kind of skirt around him without him bolting eventually, but anyone taller than me? no chance. and i am not very tall. he had ZERO interest in experiencing The Outside. never bolted for the door, never tried to shove the window screen open, and when i would open the door to leave the apartment he would just. sit at the end of it and watch nervously, far enough away that nothing could Get Him.
but despite the anxiety he was SO curious. he liked to listen out of open windows, smell the smells, and would watch the rain or snow fall with as much interest as he watched birds and squirrels
the shelter staff told me he was shy, and they weren't wrong. but he was also the sweetest, most affectionate, snuggliest, CHATTIEST cat i've ever had. he liked to burrow in blankets and pillowcases, more than any of the 20+ cats i'd had before him
and that meant he slept snuggled with me, too. pretty much every night. i fell asleep with him next to me or on my head or resting on my legs every single night for nine years.
he NEEDED to be in my business all the time. he would yell at the top of his little kitty lungs the second i got home until i sat down and snuggled him. he would sit on my lap, WEDGED UNDER MY LAPTOP, while i gamed, or sit tucked up against my side if it was a controller or handheld game; once i got a desk chair that i could let the back of down, that was His Spot, whether i was in the chair or not. he just wanted to hang out, all the time.
one of the first toys i bought him was this stuffed lambchop that was meant as a dog toy. within a year of having her, he ripped her back seam open, tore out the squeaker, ripped off an eye and an ear, but she never ever ever stopped being his favorite toy
i'm out of pictures for one post but i'm not done talking about him. he had an ulcer on the tip of his tongue when I adopted him, from his time on the streets, that made it so the tip of his tongue was a little forked instead of rounded. he had tooth problems, also from the second i adopted him, and was down to maybe three of the little front teeth between the canines, and some of his carnassials were going too. i never had the money for the extractions; maybe if i'd had better luck job-wise or saved more for it he'd have made it to his tenth gotcha day anniversary. he would fling lambchop around to chase her himself and wasn't always happy when i grabbed her to toss for him. when i lived alone he cried when i left for work every. single. day. he liked to investigate high spots but didn't usually go back to them once he had. he was SO oddly proportioned, with kinda stumpy front legs and a long body and hind legs, and permanent kitten face. his fur was so soft and silky, especially right behind his ears, and it was a weird midpoint between short and long. he rusted in the sun. any time i was in the kitchen and he was following me around, i'd hold out whatever i was making for him to smell so he felt included, and he sniffed whatever i held out and usually walked away satisfied, unless it was beef, which he begged for. he had a few hotspots around his eyelids and ears and he would scratch himself so hard he cried, and when i started yelling "gentle!" at him during a scratch, he'd slow down or stop and sometimes come over and let me rub at the spot instead. my dad saw him twice in the nine years i had him: once during the drive to nyc and last thanksgiving, when i finally convinced him to sit on the couch and let my anxious-attachment-disorder cat come to us. he was so chatty and would respond to questions in the same tone he was asked in. despite loving a snuggle, he didn't like being held but, he would tolerate it for a lot longer than you'd think. he was VERY tolerant, actually, i would hug him so tight and poke at him when he was on his cat tree and he would get annoyed but within five minutes he'd be back for pets. he was dumb but not stupid. he knew his name and responded to "baby" even when i wasn't talking to/about him. when he woke up from his naps in the basket of the cat tree, he would meow immediately, like "hello, i'm awake now, pay attention to me." he liked to lick my hair while it was still damp after a shower. he himself was Mystery Damp all the fucking time. i gave him a raw egg once a month as a treat until the listeria stuff this year. he liked dry food more than wet food, and had a projectile vomiting problem until i switched him from trader joe's canned food to iams bikkies. he LOVED the spiky brush that was supposed to be for his fur but which he used more often to rub his chin and cheeks against when his teeth were bothering him, which was always. he was NOT graceful—semi-long-time followers will recall the dewclaw and tree incident. i think it was a lack of confidence, more than innate clumsiness: he wasn't a risk taker, whether that was seeing The Outside or jumping from the cat tree to the couch, which i only recently got him to do consistently. he knew when i was trying to take a picture of him and either did not enjoy it or posed for it, no in between. he had ZERO prey drive and only started chasing and eating moths in the last few years. he loved bread for some reason and specifically loved starbucks bagels, which he stole from me when i wasn't paying attention more than once. every time he went to the vet, including today, the vets and techs described him, and specifically his legs, as "beefy." he's the only thing that kept me going some days—a lot of days, recently. he was so full of love and he was so loved and he knew it. he was my baby and my buddy and my lifeline and the thing, creature, being i loved the most in the world. i don't know how i'm supposed to go on with life without him.
