Yesterday, I spent the day in the cat room at the Humane Society of Northeast Georgia. It was not what I expected.
Usually, when I get #LockedUpForGood as part of the annual Adoption Angel Fundraiser, I'm curled up with a buddy in the large dog runs. It's noisy and a little chilly back there. But the cat room was like hearing tiny, fuzzy angels playing harps emerging from the heavens when they were allowed out to stretch their paws, flick their tails, and get a little playtime.
One cat, Terra, literally crooned the whole day at me as I sat on a bench in the room. For a teeny tiny kitten, she had a deep, gravelly meow that reminded me of a late-night jazz singer. Near her, two black cat brothers, Tinman and Scarecrow, that looked just like my cat, Cairo, who struck a serious resemblance to the cats in Lady and the Tramp with their clever acrobatics, bold personalities and a few tricks up their sleeves. A white and brown tabby, Mary, wore little white booties and loved to climb the kennel doors to talk to her friends. She also would not be caught, and would return to her cage on her own. Wallflower Agnes didn't like the way I drank from my water bottle and would watch me every time I took a sip. Buttercup doesn't like other cats, but she liked me, giving me kisses and even letting me hold her like a baby while she purred and purred.
There were so many more. 46 when I started the day, but 51 by the time I left. I talked to potential adopters, played with a few babies, posted on social media, but mostly I thought about my silly love for cats.
I hate seeing them in cages, just like I hate seeing dogs in cages all day. When I was excused for lunch, I returned to find every single cat asleep, curled up in the same little ball, with Bird TV chirping lightly in the background. It breaks my heart that rescue pets if any kind have these stigmas around them, that there is something wrong, or they're mismashed or something. I hate that there is a line in pet ownership that makes rescue-adopters and breeder-adopters feel awkward during conversations at parties, as if it is impossible for one to think the other might understand why their pet was perfect for them.
Sometimes it's just circumstances. Temperament and looks matter for families seeking another member, just as cost does. A family with many young children may not be a good fit for an older, blind dog with other medical needs; A single person may discover their starter cat is a little more social than they thought and needs a buddy to play with while the human works long hours. Some will want to spend on AKC breeding standards, others may not care as long as the dog is medium-sized and brown. Some people want to train their dogs to do tricks cause life is a circus, others want running partners, and others want an extra pillow on the couch.
The truth is, personality is what wins you over. Whether you chose a (reputable) breeder or a shelter pet or a stray pet, you will likely chose the pet who has already chosen you.
Let's talk about Buttercup again. I was told Buttercup, a large, brilliant orange tabby female, had grown up at HSNEGA, brought there as a kitten. The vet tech tending to the cats said she wasn't sure why Buttercup hadn't gotten adopted, except that she was afraid of other cats and would hiss at them. Otherwise, she was a model lovebug, purring, snuggling, and even giving kisses. She couldn't come out and play with the others during fun time, though, so I took her out later for some photos and video with shelter staff. When I put Buttercup back in her kennel after spending some time with her, I moved her too close to another (secured) cat, and she became afraid.
I am a cat mama. I know she was afraid. She wasn't just hissing to be combative. I felt her whole body tense up as she tried to scramble away and into her kennel. I apologized and tried to reach in for her. She hissed and pushed farther back into the safety of the dark, metal cage.
As I type, I look down at three, short scratches on the back of my left hand, remnants of that exchange with Buttercup. They are from her back feet fleeing into safety, little feet rapidly pushing away from perceived danger.
And it breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.
Buttercup already knew I wasn't going to take her home. Maybe she could smell Cairo or Smidge on my clothes. Maybe she was used to this Lock In thing. Who knows. But Buttercup loved on me for those pictures and video. She knew this was her moment, and she was going to enjoy it. She was willing to play the game. Buttercup easily emerged from her cage and into my arms, almost as if she was saying, "As you wish," a la The Princess Bride.
I don't know who out there is looking for a one-girl show, a lone wolf, or a headliner, but trust me, Buttercup is looking for you.
In the meantime, you can support Buttercup, Terra, Tinman and Scarecrow, Mary, and soooo many other kitties that are seeking their people. I met my $1000 bail, but donations for a good cause can still be made at this link until September 30, 2020.
Of course, a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has supported my endeavors this year and in previous years to help rescue pets in North Georgia.
