Mr. Shoes or How a Cat Healed My Broken Heart

Mr. Shoes or How A Cat Healed My Broken Heart

"You know, I don't even like cats," I mutter to the four-legged creature sitting in my usual spot. He looks at me and I hear a low growl begin in his throat. I roll my eyes and lift him into my arms, gently tossing him to the floor. He growls at me and saunters away. I plop into the chair and wipe my face. I had been crying. Again.

"I really don't. I only took you in because I know Michelle would have hated for you to go to a shelter," I told the black and white cat. He watched me now from the corner of the room, his yellow eyes boring a hole in my soul. I swear it felt like he could see the despair and disdain for him inside of me.

It wasn't that I necessarily had hated him. He was fine when he lived at Michelle's place, and I only saw him when I spent the nights there. We had reached some kind of understanding about each other in those days. Michelle was his when I wasn't around, but mine on those nights when I was. He would sometimes sit in her lap while we watched TV on the couch and allow me to pet him, but his fur would bristle if I tried to envelope her in my arms. We used to have to close the door and lock him out of the bedroom at night or I would wake up to him attacking my feet.

I woke up to him attacking my feet most nights now anyway.

"What kind of a dumb name is Mr. Shoes anyway?" I asked him out loud. He blinked at the sound of his name, but otherwise his little white booted feet remained planted firmly where they were. I had never asked Michelle why he was named Mr. Shoes.

Guess I'll never know now.

Mr. Shoes, Shoe for short and Shoe Shoe Kachoo for long, had been doing that annoying thing cats do where they're always conveniently where you need to be since I'd brought him to my place. I took all of his favorite toys and beds and cat towers, his litter box, and food and catnip and set it up in ways that were kind of reminiscent of his set up at Michelle's house. But it wasn't the same. He knew it and I knew it. He didn’t touch any of his old things.

And honestly, most days it was work for me to get out of bed and get dressed, let alone try to help a displaced cat acclimate to his new home. Some days, I could muster the energy to pick up his little ball with the bell inside and toss it down the hallway once or twice. But most days, neither of us felt like playing.

Mr. Shoes didn't seem to like me much anyway, whether Michelle was around or not. But damn, if I didn't prefer the universe where she was here, and he hated me.

I made myself dinner, some pasta with butter and parmesan cheese, and left it untouched in the bowl at my small table. I sat in the dining room chair and tried not to get tears in my now-cold noodles. I forced myself to take a shower and dry my hair and brush my teeth. I changed into pajamas and poured myself a large glass of wine. The wine went untouched on my nightstand, like my dinner.

Facing away from the TV blasting some comfort show I had been watching but not really seeing, the tears flowed. Just as they had every night since Michelle had taken her life. Nine days without her were nine days I didn't think I could get through. Every day ached deep inside my chest.

But tonight, the sobs came harder.

How could she leave me like this? I had thought we had a good thing going. I had thought that we were building something bigger, the two of us. The life I had been envisioning flashed before my eyes. Summer vacations together, lazy days spent on the porch of some house we would buy, a white dress, maybe even a kid one day. But she stole it all away from me. From us. All of that, gone in the blink of an eye.

And I hadn't even known she was in so much pain.

That part might have hurt the most. We had spent countless days and nights together and she never mentioned that she was hurting. Had I missed signs? Had I been ignoring them because I was happy and wanted to believe she was happy too?

The bottom of the bed was displaced as Mr. Shoes jumped up. I braced myself for the attack I knew was coming on my feet, but it never came. Warily, I opened my eyes and found him staring straight at me. He was closer than he ever got to me without me having to force it. His yellow eyes had flecks of green up this close.

"Meow," He offered to me. It brought a small smile to my face through the tears.

"Meow," I copied him. He did the craziest thing then. He head butted me. Just pressed his little furry head up against mine. A calm washed over me when he did that. I reached out and brushed the top of his head with my hand. He head butted my hand, encouraging me to rub the side of his face and I obliged.

"I'm sorry you lost your friend too, Mr. Shoes. I miss her," I said quietly to him. He meowed at me once more and curled up beside me, little spoon style. I froze, knowing that any move I made could open the flood gates of kitty aggression now.

But he settled in and began purring. The soft fur and gentle noise helped me calm down. Eventually, I was able to fall asleep. I don’t remember dreaming. But I woke up in a deep sweat, the side of my face covered in drool. It must have been the best sleep I’d had in days.

When I left my bedroom, I found Mr. Shoes in the living room. I went to pet his head and he growled at me.

"Okay, rude," I scolded him, "You know, you can't be my buddy at night but then hate me during the day." Mr. Shoes glared at me from his place on the couch right where a sun beam hit him.

But that's exactly what he did. That night, he came to me again, offering comfort and support. But when the sun rose, he acknowledged me with only the greatest disdain.

We went on like that for a while. Snuggling at night and ignoring one another during the day. I think he missed Michelle. I think he needed me as much as I needed him on those nights when the pain of missing her seemed like more than we could bear.

It took a long time, but we eventually got through it together like that. Until one night, I was curled up on the couch watching TV alone and he jumped up to sit with me. It wasn’t until ten or fifteen minutes later that either of us realized I had been petting him the whole time and he hadn’t tried once to take my finger off.