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Fun fact: I wasn’t always a crazy cat dad.
For the first twenty-some years of my life, I could barely take care of myself. The last thing I needed was the additional responsibility of caring for a pet. But the Universe has a habit of giving us precisely what we need, when we need it, whether we like it or not.
When I begrudgingly agreed to adopt my first kitten, Gigasaurus (AKA Jigga), I did it to appease my ex (let’s just call her, Kate). And since everything, from the idea to the adoption paperwork, was hers, so too was the cat, I naively assumed.
Never in a million years could I have imagined that spicy little furball would be the main catalyst for my transformation. Or the fact that she would become my best friend, my greatest teacher, and the only constant in my life for an entire decade.
My cat’s unconventional lessons taught me how to live. And a big part of that was learning (remembering?) how to love, unconditionally. Even to this day, many years after her physical body crossed over the rainbow bridge, her essence remains a powerful force in my life.
Before I met Jigga I had forgotten how to feel, but she reminded me.
Perhaps most importantly though, she showed me how to be myself. I believe the Cat Chaddy was always in here somewhere; I was just too afraid of what others might think to show them my true colors.
That is, until I witnessed the great equalizer, death, firsthand. Seeing it strike so suddenly as it shrunk my former feral into a sad, withering shadow of her former self shook me to my core.
Instantly I was reminded about the brevity of life, and, at the same time, the things that truly matter. It was almost like I was born again with a new clarity, a new sense of purpose.
Jigga’s passing may have been the end of her physical life on this Earth, but it was also the birth of the Cat Chaddy. So in a way, she will always live on as a part of me. Not just as the first cat whose life I saved, but as the one who enabled me to save all the rest.
This is the tale of the cats that saved my life.
No Dogs Allowed
To me, the craziest part of it all is that I never even wanted a cat to begin with.
Neither did my girlfriend, Kim, who I was about to move in with at the time. I was 27 when we met at an Irish pub in New York City on St. Paddy’s Day (how romantic, I know). This was back when people actually used to meet IRL.
What she desperately wanted more than anything (besides maybe a kid) was a dog. Which I’d tentatively agreed to, knowing full well that our new building had a strict “no dogs” policy.
I thought I was slick, too. That is, until she flipped the script on me and decided that a fluffy little kitten would also suffice. And so it was, I had backed myself into a corner, there was no turning back now.
Kim took the initiative, promptly submitting an application to our local shelter. A few days later, we were at the foster meeting our new cat.
Not Really a Cat Person
It didn’t take long before I realized that we had a problem on our hands. Well, more accurately, I had a problem. As it turns out, Kim was not a cat person, at all.
Looking back, this makes total sense. Growing up in a huge, LOUD, Irish family on Staten Island with big dogs probably does not condition one for success with cats. This is not to say that her heart was in the wrong place…she definitely meant well. But her innate personality just seemed to rub Jigga the wrong way, and vice versa.
I think what it boils down to is that Kim expected Jigga to act like a dog. Which, as anyone who’s ever had cats can attest to, is a recipe for disaster, every, single, time.
Not surprisingly, the cat responded by also wanting Kim to be something else, quiet, polite, and out of her life. And as cats so often do, she got her way. Kim and I finally called it quits after almost three years together.
Although Jigga was technically hers all along, she abruptly became mine when Kim hit me with the ultimatum. I’ll never forget her exact words, they hit me like a ton of bricks. “Take the cat or she’s going back to the pound”.
Even as a self-centered, immature twenty eight year-old, I knew that there was no decision to be made. It was in that moment that everything changed, I was now a single cat dad, for better or for worse.
Ten Years, Four States, One Constant
Gigasaurus and I lived the bachelor life for about a year before my next girlfriend, Jesse, came along. Nine months in, I got a job offer halfway across the country, and rather than call it quits, we moved in together in Minneapolis. We arrived just in time for the first snowfall and our very first “polar vortex.” It gets so cold there that they built a skyway of heated corridors downtown, because going outside is simply not an option.
Two winters later, I was promoted into what looked like the job of my dreams. The catch: another relocation, this time from the coldest place in the country to one of the hottest: Dallas, Texas. Jesse (wisely) sat that one out. She had signed up for one move and one move only, and I couldn’t promise the next stop would be the last.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.
One unbearably hot summer confirmed I also wasn’t meant to be a Texan. So in true goldilocks fashion, I aimed for the middle and moved with my cat to paradise: San Diego, California. As it turns out, there are literally no jobs in San Diego. After 2.5 years of living the dream while incinerating my life savings, a recruiter randomly called about the highest paying job I had ever seen. Next stop: San Francisco.
By the time we got to SF in late 2019, Jigga’s health had been declining for some time. She’d started vomiting a few years earlier, infrequently enough that I naively chalked it up to hairballs and “normal” cat behavior (NOTE: it is NOT normal for cats to consistently vomit anything; you should see your vet ASAP).
Then the world was bitch slapped by the COVID-19 pandemic. Suddenly stranded in a ghost-city full of masked strangers, all I could think about was getting back to my aging parents on the east coast. So I requested a work transfer, packed up everything, and made the longest move of them all. After more than twelve hours in her carrier and a grueling day of travel that began in San Francisco and ended in Newark, we were finally home.
Coming Home: The Circle of Life
The decade that I shared with Jigga was the most transformative and impactful period of my life thus far. It began at the tail end of my first really serious relationship (read: breakup) and ended with the implosion of my third.
Through it all, my cat was the only constant. Heck, she even accompanied me through a pandemic. But, as they say, nothing in this life lasts forever.
Shortly after we had settled into our new home, her condition took a turn for the worse. We did absolutely everything we could to help her get better. But sadly, after many trips to “the best” feline specialist in NYC, Gigasaurus was diagnosed with an aggressive form of stomach cancer.
I was terrified and devastated, but I refused to give up on my best friend. My girlfriend at the time, Katie, was an absolute angel. She accompanied us on the 90 minute drive to Brooklyn and back every week to see the cancer specialist. However, after only one chemo treatment, it became painfully clear that we were fighting a losing battle.
On Wednesday, October 17th, 2021, I did the unthinkable: I laid my cat to rest. Though it’s not like we had a choice, she was suffering. And although it’s perhaps the most difficult thing in the entire world, knowing when it’s time, there was no doubt in our minds.
I could not bear to let my best friend die in some strange, unfamiliar place on a cold, stainless steel table. So I paid to have a traveling vet come to our home. I had actually scheduled the visit for a few days later, “just in case”, but had to move the appointment up when we saw her condition that last morning.
She was so weak she could barely even fight back, which made it that much harder; my cat was a fighter. I sat on our favorite couch, the one we’d snuggled on thousands of times before, and held her tightly in my lap as she took her last breath.
Maybe it was just my feeble human mind playing tricks on me, but I swear I heard her lightly purring as I told her repeatedly that she was a good girl…she was loved.
Gigasaurus passed away just a few months after her tenth birthday. Ironically, though she had lived all over the country for most of her life, she died less than two miles from where she was born.
The Grieving Lesson
Her final lesson for me was that of how to grieve.
I was fortunate to have made it to my late thirties with only a few close personal losses. And if I’m being totally honest, I was too young, self-centered, and immature to feel the sonic boom of emotions that I should have felt from the ones that I did have. But that’s another story for another time. When I lost my first cat, I felt them all.
Suddenly there was a gaping hole in my heart where my cat used to be. I was truly and utterly lost, beyond devastated. She was my best friend, my companion, my rock. And now she was gone forever. If it was not for my ex’s support, I don’t know if I would have made it through this difficult time.
On a weird sidenote, my aunt also had to put her beloved pet dog to sleep the same day my kitty passed away. Neither of us had planned to say goodbye to our pets so soon. And while they had never met, I can’t help but think this was no coincidence, I mean really, what are the odds?!
Although we both lost our furry family member on the same fateful day in October, I quickly learned that what they say about grieving is true, we each do it in our own unique way.
My aunt began immediately searching for a new dog with which to fill her own heart hole. But I wasn’t sure if I could handle the loss of another pet ever again.
Ready to Love Again
More than a year had passed since I lost my fur baby.
Even though the acute pain deep within my chest became more tolerable with time, not a day goes by that I do not miss her. As much as I longed to have another cat in my life, the fear of loss was paralyzing.
However, one day on a whim, I started casually perusing cute kittens on Petfinder. You know, just “for fun”. I wouldn’t actually go through with the adoption process yet, I told myself, I still wasn’t ready.
But then I saw her face, I’ll never forget the very first time I laid my eyes on Fawn (actual picture below).
It’s like I knew that she was meant to be my cat, or something deep within me, my soul perhaps, recognized something deep within her. A cat that cute won’t be around for long though, I rationalized with myself. No need to call the shelter and inquire just to get disappointed when I inevitably find out she’s been adopted already.
A couple more months had passed when I finally decided that I was almost ready. When I first saw Fawn, I’d started to fill out the adoption application but had not submitted it. And so when I finally sent it in, it still had her name on it.
The next day I received a phone call from the foster, much to my surprise, she was still available!
A Package Deal
I never intended to get two cats, mainly because I assumed that would mean twice the work (note: it’s not).
But the amazing folks at the foster, Chance at Life, had other plans in store for me. As it turns out, Fawn had a little buddy named Arya (FKA Helena), who she’d bonded with in foster care.
After learning about the multitude of reasons why two cats are better than one, I agreed to adopt them both. Honestly though, I don’t think the foster would have taken no for an answer. And rightfully so, separating bonded cats is like tearing apart close (human) siblings, it should be avoided whenever possible.
Despite the deep love that my cats have for each other, they could not be any more different. Fawn is very outgoing and curious, while Arya is extremely shy and reserved. They are complete and total opposites. So much so that for the first two days she was home, Arya refused to come out of her carrier.
For the next two weeks Fawn and I did everything together, we were instantly best friends. Conversely, Arya hunkered down inside the bathroom vanity, refusing to come out except to eat. Each time I went in to scoop the litter or refresh her water bowl, loud hisses reminded me that I was no longer welcome in my own bathroom.
After a few weeks had passed with minimal progress, panic began to set in as my patience wore thin. I worried that I’d made a grave mistake and would be stuck with yet another difficult cat (as much as I loved Jigga, she was NOT easy) for the next 10+ years.
Fortunately, the amazing folks at the shelter talked me off the ledge when I swore I was bringing her back. Twice.
But eventually, one inch at a time, I was able to establish the tiniest inkling of trust with my kitty. Until finally, some 89 days later (but like, who’s counting?!), Arya jumped up on the couch and snuggled with me.
Although she is still extremely shy and skittish at times, she has blossomed into the sweetest, most loving, intelligent cat I have ever met.
Fawn is sleeping on my lap, where she always is, as I finish typing this post. Arya is napping under the bed. These two cats are my best friends in the whole world, I can’t imagine life without them.
And none of this would be possible were it not for the lessons that my first cat, Gigasaurus, taught me about life, love, and the way of the feline.
I am beyond grateful for them all.
Everything these three have taught me about keeping indoor cats truly happy went into the Indoor Cat Enrichment Blueprint.
With lots of Love,
The Cat Chaddy
