In July, I adopted a cat.
Not just any cat, however, a rather large, orange, annoyingly handsome cat.
His name is Sir Elliott McSquigglepants and I don’t know that I have ever loved anything more than I love him.
I never thought of myself as a cat person. In fact, I hated cats for a long time. I always thought that they were dicks (which I find hilarious now as more and more people compare me to cats in general). But then I met a cat named Petra: A super fat cat with the most annoying meow I’ve ever heard who likes to sit on my shoulder. And she slowly, but surely, changed my mind.
Now, dear reader, you should know that I’ve been dealing with an unfortunate bout of depression and anxiety for a little over a year. Nothing that I haven’t been able to handle (with the help of some beautiful people), but it’s been a sort of buzz that follows me around. Some days are phenomenal; bright and hopeful with bright bursts of color. Other days leave me crumpled in my bed with MCR screaming from my speakers and cold tea sitting on my headboard. But regardless of what kind of day it is, I always try to keep moving forward.
So where does this cat of mine come into play? Great question! Ever heard of emotional support animals? Elliott is sort of like mine, except I didn’t have to get a doctor’s note to invite him into my apartment. I’ve always been in support of animal assisted therapies, but I never thought that I would be one to benefit. But while he isn’t certified and is most definitely not referred to as an ESA, his presence has done wonders in my life.
It took a really long time to be allowed to have Elliott, though. I first brought up the idea of getting a cat to the Associate Director of Housing last December. He told me there was nothing that could be done until the spring, but would definitely talk to the Director about it. Months passed. Conversations (arguments) between the Director and the grads (the people who were directly being affected by the current pet policy at the time) happened. Until finally: “We’re going to try it.”
But even then, I had to wait a few more months. I needed a new car. I was still paying student loans. And I wasn’t about to bring a being into my life who relied on me to make sure they were okay at all times. And then it all fell into place. On July 24th of this year, I met Elliott and started the adoption process. On July 26th, he stole my heart and I never looked back.
A few weeks after Elliott had turned my apartment into his, I had people commenting on a change in my demeanor. Telling me that I looked and acted happier. I was smiling more and talking about this silly fur baby lit up my whole face.
Animals have healing powers, I’m sure of it now. Because it doesn’t matter how many times this damn cat of mine tries to hunt me down and attacks my ankles or leaves angry red marks on my arms; it doesn’t matter how many times he begs me to turn on the faucet so he doesn’t have to drink from his bowl; it doesn’t matter that I can no longer let him sleep in my room at night if I want to sleep at all. What matters is that at the end of the day, Sir Elliott McSquigglepants has changed my life for the better. So even though he’s a dick (hey, some habit die hard), I wouldn’t trade the days he snuggles up on my chest for all the money in the world. x
I hope your Sunday has been lovely! I’m always accepting suggestions for things to write about, especially during NaBloPoMo!