The story of the adoption of my cat

I was talking about it with a friend the other day, and realised in all those 6 years of having my cat, and this blog, that I never shared the full story of his adoption process.I think I mentioned bits and pieces, but not the full glory of it. So, grab your coffee or tea, sit back and go with me on this journey!

Disclaimer: the cat on the photos isn’t mine. I don’t want to share my cat with the world, for I believe he shouldn’t be shared. There are enough cats on the internet already, so mine stays private and stays mine to admire.

Background story

My aunt had a colleague who was fostering kittens and wanted to find them a forever home. I had just lost my cat on the 4th of January of that same year (she turned 19,5 years old) and I didn’t know if I’d be ready to ever get a new cat. It felt as if I’d betray her, as if I’d replace her. But the emptiness was too big and it had been 5 months since her death. My aunt told my parents about the kittens (born on the 8th of May) and I suddenly knew what I wanted: I wanted to give one of those kittens a good life. They were already born and needed a home, so it felt acceptable to me.

The day of picking

It was June 7th, a Saturday in 2014. My aunt and uncle and my mum and I drove to the house of the colleague to pick a cat from the litter of 7 kittens. When we came there, I could sense that the young children in the household, and the dogs, weren’t a good environment for them to stay in. So, the woman told her kids to walk the dog so we could hold the kittens and pick which one we liked. I took a black kitten with white spots on my lap. It was a girl and she meowed a lot. It actually drove me nuts, but she was gorgeous. Then I peeked over at my uncle, who was holding this black cat in his lap. He was quiet and the blue eyes made him adorable. At the time, I didn’t know he was a boy. The woman said it was a girl. I knew he was the one I wanted, because I felt a connection straight from the start. I wanted a lap cat, and the woman told me that this one would be my best pick. Though, she had her concerns with him. He needed to be fed by bottle, as he was sick. He had worms. He was the smallest of them all and she said she had her doubts by us picking him. I insisted. This one would be coming home with us in several weeks. No way that I’d turn him down because he had a rough start. I know black cats have a history of ‘not getting adopted’ and ending up in the shelter, let alone a black cat who’s sick.

Naming my cat and the gender mistake

As we decided which cat I wanted to adopt, we went back home. A few weeks went by, as we determined that we’d adopt my cat in July. Before that, the woman texted us letting us know that she found out that he wasn’t a girl, but a boy. She asked us which other cat we wanted to adopt, since I at first wanted a girl (my mum said a female cat would be nicer than a male). I waved her off and stood by my first pick: he’d still come live with us. I actually rather wanted a boy, so I was really happy that they mistook his gender. She then asked which name I’d like to give him, and I told her. She’d promised to start calling him that so he’d get used to his name already.

The day of adoption

It was the 16th of July 2014 and I was finally gonna officially adopt my Blacky. My father drove my mum and my to the house (as I didn’t have a driver’s license back then). He wasn’t there when we picked him, so it’d be a surprise for him as well. When we arrived, we took a travel basket with us. We were fully prepared. When we came in, she asked us one more time if he was the one we wanted to adopt. I felt as if she was judging me for picking him. I nodded and just wanted to leave and go home with him. He was still small, but I was determined to nurse him to health and make him a strong and fierce kitten. We finally took him home and the drive back was actually pretty nice. He was quiet and just overall looking around at us. I sat next to him, wanting him to smell me so he could get used to me right away. When we arrived home, he sniffled the entire house. He investigated his stuff, the toys, the food bowl and immediately started eating. He was too eager to sleep and kept swirling around my legs with his head. He trusted me right away.

First day and the days after

The next day, he was already laying on his back, showing his stomach, whilst sleeping in his small basket we bought for him. I never thought it’d be possible, but he seemed to love it here straight away. I noticed one thing, however, and still do. He’s afraid of the vacuum cleaner and is easily scared. I think that has something to do with the children and the dog living there, because he’s also hella afraid of dogs. In any case, he grew quick. He had his treatment (castration) and was extremely healthy the first time he met our vet. I nursed him so well, that he reached beyond every point of doubt that the woman had with him.

Now

I’ve never once regretted adopting him. The past 6 years with him have been amazing. He’s such a sweet, beautiful cat. I get teary eyed while only looking at him. He means everything to me and I’m blessed to have him in my life. I don’t want to know what my life would’ve looked like if I adopted his sister. Because he belongs with me, and him only. He often sleeps on my lap or stomach (or whilst leaning against my leg), shows his stomach often (which I’m also allowed to pet) and doesn’t scratch unless he’s playing. He doesn’t bite at all and has the cutest meow. He greets me whenever I come home (mostly) and listens to his name as if he knows I mean him (because people often say that cats ignore their name). He’s honestly the cutest, most adorable, sweetest cat I could ever wish for. I wish he’d have known his sister, but I know she’d accept him. I just know. But he’s my baby boy and I’m his mother. And you can think of that whatever you want, but I truly see him as my son. He’s my fur son, my fur baby. And I wouldn’t trade him for anything in the world. I’ll protect him with my life if I have to. He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me after my first cat’s death. She’ll never be forgotten, because I simply can’t. But I love him just as much as I loved her. That’ll never change. And he’s an indoor cat. He has always been one and will remain one. It’s safe, I know where he is and he doesn’t mind.

Love, Deem ❤

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