Britin Frazey

Despite my parents owning both a dog and a cat when I was born, the cards were once stacked heavily against me ever owning one as a child. Several of my relatives had allergies– whether real or alleged– and the once-sweet feline my parents knew disappeared in favor of a mean old grump when they brought me home. Touche, my guy. The hospital wouldn’t take me back, so my parents found a loving new family for their kitty.

As a child, I never shut up about animals. Our trusty golden retriever was a solid start, and when I was in pre-school, we got a second dog from a shelter, who deserves her own post, one day. Despite my begging, my parents insisted we were a dog-only family, and I accepted it. Especially when we got a third dog, and my first puppy, another golden who deserves her own post.

The first cat I remember loving was a mean old tabby named Summer. She always lay on the neighbor’s front porch and hissed at passersby, but if you ever sat down with her, she’d let you pet her. But the neighbors got rid of her.

In middle school, I began volunteering at a local animal shelter, SICSA, where I would always concentrate on the cats. I have about a million stories from my time there, mainly that the sweetest cats, in my opinion, are the ones who get passed by for the longest.

Black cats especially end up with long stays at shelters, and often have lower adoption fees because so many people truly care about the old stigma about them being bad luck.

I had been volunteering for about a year, if memory serves, when I came home from school one day, and my mom sat me down for a conversation. She was serious, but giddy, and somehow I knew that it was going to be about a cat.

Well, it turned out that one of her coworkers had ended up taking in a small, white kitten, who had been dumped on the side of the road. The coworker had taken the kitten from her tennis instructor and stored it at her in-laws’ house, where the many cats rejected her from their clowder.

And there my mom was, after at least twelve years of me actively asking to get a cat, offering me one. I squealed with joy, and then we took in a cat we would name Collins.

She was 6 months old, and when she was dumped, she’d already been spayed and declawed in her front paws. I am firmly anti-declawing, and always have been.

Collins’s favorite activities include sleeping on the floor, chasing tinsel toys, and sitting on people’s laps, which is contingent upon you having a blanket. The only person who’s allowed to hold her is my mom, although there was a time when I was allowed, too. Unfortunately, I lost that privilege when we got our second cat.

In high school, I was working at a food pantry when a fellow volunteer approached me and asked me if I wanted a cat. He explained that their new grandbaby was allergic, and they had way too many.

I called my mom to ask for permission, and she famously said something to the effect of “ask your father.” So, I called him up and asked him, and he just laughed and said yes immediately. When I told my mom this, she was mad because she thought for sure he’d say no. But the damage was done. I had already agreed to take one of the man’s many cats.

I talked to his wife, who showed me pictures of the cat she’d be giving me: a 2-year-old, long-haired black cat. She told me all about this cat’s shy but sweet personality.

When I met back up with them on the agreed date, the cat she had in the crate was a 6-month-old, short-haired black cat, hiding carefully in the back corner of her messy carrier. The lady told me about their pit bull, who had chased this cat around the house, not letting her get any food.

I bit my tongue about all my doubts and reached inside, readying myself to be scratched as I tried to remove her from the carrier. But she just melted into my arms, seeming like she’d stay there, but I put her in the new, clean carrier we’d brought for her.

When we brought her home, she was confined to one bedroom, where she hid for a few hours before coming out and revealing her ridiculous, shameless need for human love. We named her Lulu, and she was immediately clingy– sleeping on my chest every single night for weeks.

It took a while for Collins and Lulu to warm up to one another, but they became sisters. They loved one another and comforted each other through the deaths of both of my dogs, who the cats truly loved.

My freshman year, I lived on campus at college, and after the first semester of living alone, I was severely depressed. I got all of the necessary paperwork done, and I brought Lulu to campus with me, where she lived happily as a dorm cat. She also really bonded with my now-fiancé, who was my boyfriend at the time. Now, he’s her favorite person.

On weekends, I’d bring her back to my parents’ house, and she and Collins would pick up like usual. But one time, I had to host Collins in my dorm for a night (don’t tell my university), and they acted like they had never seen each other before. Cats are funny.

We moved home over the summer, then got an apartment off-campus the next year. Now, as sad as it was for everyone, we knew that Lulu and I wouldn’t be moving back home anytime soon.

But Collins was lonely now, my mom and I thought. Lulu loved the lavish life of an only child, but Collins longs for company. Ironically enough, my dad didn’t want a second cat, this time.

Then one day we all walked into a pet store, where a local cat rescue, Blue’s Mews, was posted inside with lots of kitties looking for forever homes. And there, my mom met her second cat. Just a small kitten at the time, Jax stuck out to her.

Collins and Jax took right to one another, and are now even more bonded than she and Lulu ever were. Like I said, Lulu is really just neutral on other cats, while Collins and Jax both love company.

I visit my parents’ house very regularly, and love their kitties like they’re my own. After all, Collins used to be. Jax isn’t a fan of being held, but will allow it, and loves cuddles. I always pick her up and mess with her, getting her to play-bite me and to yell.

Jax is the most vocal cat we have, but also the quietest. Her meows are more like squeaks– it’s as if she forgets to turn on the volume when she talks. Yet, she’ll go back and forth with people as if she’s having a regular human conversation. It’s the cutest, funniest thing.

So, if you don’t have a cat, you need one. They are the sweetest creatures and have such unique and quirky personalities. The cat distribution system got my family our first two felines, but shelters are an even more reliable way to get beloved furry family members.

If you were looking for a sign to get a cat, or another cat, then this post is it. Go out and adopt one right now! Unless you’re severely allergic, of course.