Love and Shelter Cats

The saddest sound in the world is the sound of a cat shelter. No other depressing soundtrack can compare to the pathetic meows of tiny kittens mixed with the angry yowls of stray tomcats, all muffled by plastic cage doors.

And when you look and see the delicate paws poking out from under the door, claws grasping at something, anything…

I swear I cry each time I come here.

Sometimes, I’ll just walk down the rows of cats, looking at each face and wishing I could give each of them the home they deserve. The tears that have been welling up in my eyes spill over and start running down my face.

Great. Just what I need right now. Leave it to me to have an emotional breakdown in public over some shelter cats.

“Are you okay?”

Even better.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and turned to face the shelter volunteer, already preparing a response in my head. Yeah, I’m fine. I had a rough day today. Or, Yeah, I’m fine, just thinking about my old cat who died a year ago. (Which is a lie. My cat, Domino, is alive and well and stuffs his face with fancy cat food each night.)

But, of course, I take one look at the pretty girl with high cheekbones and dreads piled in a bun on top of her head and all of my excuses vanish.

“I-- um…” I say. “I--I’m fine.” My voice cracks, making me sound like the worst liar ever. I resist the urge to wipe my leaking eyes again, because that would only make my failure even more obvious.

As expected, she raises one of her eyebrows in speculation. “Well, that’s obviously not true,” she says. I try to avoid looking at her eyes, but that means that my gaze has to drift down towards the top of her definitely very modest shirt.

You know what, maybe looking at her face isn’t such a bad thing after all. 

“Um,” I say, realizing that she is still waiting for me to answer the question. “Um, I--” Well, this is going absolutely nowhere.

“Do you come here often?” she asks, after it becomes clear that I can’t formulate a coherent answer to the first question. She breaks our slightly uncomfortable eye contact and shifts her weight to her other foot. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“I used to come here all the time,” I admit, the words coming out a little too fast and way too eager-sounding. “But I stopped coming a year or two ago. I got really busy, and I was finally able to afford a cat of my own, so I didn’t need to come here to hang out with animals.”

“Lucky,” she says. “My landlord doesn’t allow pets of any kind. Hopefully, someday I can get a house of my own and get a cat, but for the time being, I just come here every other day and spend time with the senior kitties.”

My shoulders relax as the conversation continues. She expresses her love for the older cats who have to spend the final days in the shelter, and I talk a bit about Domino and how he’s plenty of cat-ness to keep me occupied.

“Want to come meet my best friend?” she asks, grinning.

I have a feeling that her best friend is not human, and you can bet I would never pass up a chance to hang out with a cat. “Of course!” I respond.

She leads me to a door that says Employees Only. “You’re not technically supposed to be in here,” she admits as we walk in, “but I’m sure they won’t mind.” We enter another room, and my eyes widen.

At first glance, it is clear that this isn’t a kitten room. My ears are pleased to find that there are no high-pitched squeaks, and there are no plastic cages. Instead, the floor is scattered with an assortment of toys and blankets that would make Domino furious. A sprawling cat tree against the far wall completes the picture.

“This is where we keep our senior cats for the most part,” the girl explains. She bends down and scoops up a long-haired gray cat. “And this,” she says, tickling his furry tummy, “is Noodle.” He meows for emphasis.

“Awwwww,” I say, my heart melting. “He’s adorable!” Leaning in, I let him sniff out my fingers and then scratch him under the chin. A raspy purr fills my ears as he leans into my hand, his eyes closing in satisfaction.

“His old family gave him up when they had to move,” the girl says sadly, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “That was almost six months ago. No one seems to want an older cat when they can have a cute little kitten.” 

Noodle climbs off of the girl’s lap, rolling over onto his back so that I can rub his belly. As I look at him, so happy and innocent, I can feel tears welling up in my eyes again.

How wonderful. I just can’t seem to get control of my emotions today, can I. I try to surreptitiously wipe my eyes, but the girl must have caught me, because she says, “I wish I could adopt him, but like I said…”

At that moment, it hits me. 

Fuck. Was she just taking advantage of me as a marketing ploy? Maybe she doesn’t like me at all, but actually meant to do this so that I would be forced to adopt Noodle and probably a dozen other cats.

I look up at her, and all worries disappear. She doesn't look malicious at all, just sad. She isn’t even looking at me; her gaze is fixed on Noodle.

My phone buzzes, interrupting the silence that had filled the room. “Oh, shit!” I say, knowing what the reminder is even before I look. “I have to go, or I’ll be late to something important.” I give Noodle one final belly rub, and then I turn to the girl.

“I’ll show you out,” she says. “Feel free to come by anytime. I work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from noon to six.”

“Thank you so much, …?” I realize that I never got her name. 

She opens the door, a smile creeping onto her face. “I’m Catherine,” she says as I walk by. “But you can call me Cat.” I glance over my shoulder, and she waves. Her eyes are twinkling. “Noodle will be waiting for you!”

My spirits feel unusually high as I walk out to my car. Every time I blink, I see Cat with her pretty eyes and Noodle in her arms. I recall the loving look she gave him, and, of course, I am jealous of a cat.

Hey, I’m just saying.

She’s pretty cool. She gave me lesbian vibes. We both like cats. Maybe…?

I’m probably just getting my hopes up. As I start the engine and pull out of the cat shelter parking lot, I peek in the rearview mirror. For an instant, I think that I see Cat standing there, holding Noodle and waving. 

It’s just my imagination, but it gives me hope. I don’t know if Cat would ever like me back. Hell, I don’t even know if she’s gay. But for the time being, I do know one thing.

Noodle will not be disappointed. I’ll be back on Wednesday.

And who knows. Maybe I’ll just happen to run into Cat.

When I get home that night, I watch a movie with Domino. “I don’t know, buddy,” I tell him, stroking his silky ears. “You might have to give up being the king of the house. Do you think you could be nice to your elders?”

He purrs.

I’ll take that as a yes.