The love of a cat

It’s special, because you have to work to earn it with so many cats.

They are not dogs. They do not have dog ways. They are not pre-disposed by selective breeding to immediately unconditionally love humans.

They have a cat temperament, and a cat disposition. It is naturally more reserved and suspicious. Like me. There’s a reason I get along with feline kind.

This is Shredder.

He is about 15 years old, and 15 strong pounds (down from 22 pounds when I adopted him).

Shredder was nine years old when his former owners, an elderly couple, brought him to the shelter. He was matted down to the skin. They couldn’t care for him properly.

He languished there for months because he was a biter. Ever in bite quarantine. They warned potential adoptors about this.

Well, I’d bite too if my humans abandoned me in a concrete building filled with 20 other animals squawking and no place to get away from it.

On my first visit, he came to me when I called him and let me pet him. And then he scratched me hard and drew blood.

On my second visit, he came to me again, and let me pick him up. And I did, because I was in love and my heart would have broken to leave him there.

I think Shredder had some feline version of PTSD. He wanted love and attention, but he’d turn aggressive and fighty in the middle of it.

In the first few months, he bit me several times, hard. Sunk his fangs right into the web of my thumb.

Didn’t care. He might be a biter, but he was my biter now. You don’t ever abandon an animal you’ve taken the responsibility for. He’s yours now.

As a boy, I loved cats more than most people. They were always good to me, and I was good to them. My mother, being who she is, gave away every cat who came into our lives and who we children bonded with and loved. When they became inconvenient, they disappeared to someone else’s house, or to a shelter.

It’s been six years since Shredder came to live with us. Several cats have come, and died, during that time. One, little Mina, came the same year as a kitten and they fell in love with each other. This little tabby cuddles with her big brother, and he bathes her every morning with his tongue.

Over these six years, Shredder has learned how much he really does like attention and affection from humans. He asks for it. Sometimes by putting his paws up on your legs and asking for a shoulder ride.

This past year, he’s taken to coming to my bed after breakfast and laying on top of me, or right beside me. This is a big change from when he was new to the house.

I like to think that Shredder and I did some PTSD recovering together during that period. In 2016, when I adopted him, I had the final confrontation, the “divorce” from my mother. My three cats died that same year, including my best girl of 17 years, Mink.

It was such a horrible year I didn’t really want to live, and I sure didn’t think I’d ever be close to “happy” again. Thankfully, I was wrong.

We helped each other, this cat and me.

I love you, Shredder.