When I was looking at colleges in my senior year of high school, I was seriously considering two colleges in New York state, both 4-6 hours away from home. I wasn’t wildly impressed with either of them (far from it). On the way back from touring one with my dad, in a fit of pre-empty nest syndrome, he promised that if I went to college in my home state of Vermont that he would get me what I had been harping for throughout almost my whole life; he promised to get me a cat. For a variety of reasons (not exclusively the looming possibility of a new pet, I promise), I ended up making the wonderful choice to attend Saint Michael’s College in Colchester, VT.
After this decision was finalized, it was a matter of days before I dragged my family to the nearest humane society. My father’s only stipulation with this was that he wanted an older cat (8+ years old). I was completely alright with that since I wanted a cat that no one else wanted, that no one wanted to adopt. My dad wanted an older cat for, um, other reasons, but they didn’t interfere with my own at all.
(Here is a picture of Watson the day I met him. Please note the: crossed eyes, missing fur, skinny body, and general air of “take me hooooome.”)
After looking at and spending time with a few cats and not finding any that seemed to fit, I was almost resigned that I would have to come back in a few weeks, but then I saw a big, skinny, rag-tag looking, siamese mix. I asked to see him in one of the playrooms. When the employee put him in my lap, she told me to make sure he didn’t shoot out the door when she went to leave. As soon as he settled in my lap, instead of attempting to flee out any available exit, he curled into me and pressed himself as close to me as possible.
I was pretty much done for after that.
(He likes to take naps on expensive textbooks)
We interacted with him in the playroom for a while, and then filled out the paperwork to come pick him up as soon as possible. The staff seemed slightly shocked, but were nothing if not supportive. I mean, he was a cross-eyed, twelve year old cat with chunks of fur missing because of his anxiety, and had only been available for adoption for about a week. That doesn’t scream “likely adoption” to anyone. But then again, love at first sight isn’t something we can predict (*sigh*).
(His beauty knows no bounds)
Today, it is about a year later, Watson is now thirteen, has won over my whole family, is a little bit of a narcissist (what cat isn’t?), and I am more over the moon for him than I sometimes care to admit. It is safe to say that I post a lot of cat pictures on social media these days. I am now the type of person who, when ill, feels the need to google “Can I get my cat sick if I am sick” (after consulting the internet, a group chat, and a Biology major, I have concluded that the answer is ‘no’). I analyze his behavior to see what secret messages he is sending me (“what does it mean if my cat licks me a lot?” “what does it mean if my cat bites me?” “what does it mean if my cat stares at me while he urinates?”). I know, I’m a little crazy.
(He likes to snuggle)
Finally, the point of this short story of my personal experience with pet adoption at the Chittenden County Humane Society will, I hope, serve to emphasize that when you adopt you are by no stretch of the imagination getting a ‘sub-par’ pet. When you adopt you will probably not have to house train your animal (most of them already are), you will gain a great snuggle buddy, and you will change your shelter animal’s whole life; by giving them a ‘forever home,’ you are either giving them back what was taken from them, or what they never had the chance to have in the first place.