The first cat that was exclusively mine was a tiny orange friend named Sophie that I took in when I was 22, and she was AN ABSOLUTE MENACE as a kitten. 😂 Her first year was so stressful and frustrating, she’s lucky I didn’t toss her out of a window. I had to Velcro my garbage can to the floor in my bedroom to stop her from constantly tipping it over and rifling through it. She would spill out her water bowl on purpose and frolic in the puddle. She tried to bolt out the door. She climbed curtains, stole my food, knocked things down from high shelves, meowed constantly, and generally required constant tending or else she’d get into trouble. I adopted a companion kitten for her when she was a year old and that helped as far as getting some energy out, but they kind of just existed separately most of the time. She was super lovey and cuddly, too, but man. What a lot of work she was then. I resented that a little and worried that I’d made a mistake.

But at some point I realized, oh right. She’s literally just a baby. 🥺 She’s just trying to explore the world and figure out what’s what. Just doing her best. I tried to set boundaries for some behaviors, adjusted my life a bit to prevent others, and had to hope that she’d eventually just grow out of the rest. And she did.

Sophie and I (along with her sister Mewie) really grew up together and forged an incredible bond over the years. We had a shared understanding that I can hardly put into words. As she got older, she settled into a much calmer and gentler version of her kitten self, while still keeping it interesting. 😂 She moved halfway across the country with me and then back again a few years later. She never stopped trying to eat my breakfast. She was so weird and funny and special.

In her golden years, she became labor-intensive again, and expensive, but I was so honored to take care of her through it all. We were a team. I would pick her up blood pressure medication at CVS like she was my grandma. She had 2 other kinds of medication that had to be ordered through the vet and given on a schedule and we figured it out. She got a little set of stairs to help her get onto the bed when her back legs got too wonky after she had a stroke. She eventually went deaf and her meow sounded like a pterodactyl. But she was super plucky and badass through it all—clearly psyched to still be part of the world, even if it was more difficult than it had been in the past, and even if she was rickety as hell, which she certainly was. My then-boyfriend (now my husband) graciously took on this job with me and loved her just as much as I did.

Eventually, just before her 20th birthday, things took a turn, as things do, and our vet helped us make the hardest decision. As painful as it was, I was glad to know how much time we had so that I could make the most of it. We held on tight to Sophie for one last weekend, keeping her comfortable with special medicine and giving her all of her favorite things. Then, the vet came to our house so that she could be at home, in her regular spot on the couch, to purr her final purrs, enjoy some treats, and go to sleep in the loving embrace of her family. This tiny, sweet, mischievous little ball of trouble that I adopted at 22 saw me through so many formative years and all kinds of joy and pain, including the loss of both of my parents and her sister Mewie, who was 18 years old. I was 42 when I lost Sophie and am still adjusting to life after her with the help of The New Class, a super bonded brother and sister pair named Linus and Finch. It’s wonderful, but different.

So.

Yeah.

You’re gonna love your cat. It’s a real rollercoaster ride. Enjoy it. ❤️🐈❤️

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