A house is empty without a cat, or at least it must have before Bart first arrived at home. It was near the end of October when I took Bart, a two-year-old rescue from the Windsor Humane Society, home with me. I had spent the previous day picking him out, and the anticipation of his arrival kept me awake all night. Little did I know how tired I would be during his first week.
Bart came home with me in a Carrier that I had borrowed from my aunt. I had toys, food, and his little box set up; I was ready, or so I thought. Turns out being fully responsible for a warm, living breathing thing is A LOT of work, and Bart was no exception. When Bart arrived he was restricted to my room: he wandered around, sniffed, and gave me endless purrs and cuddles, but he struggled to completely settle down. I had expected this of course, even prepared for it, but I hadn’t prepared for how anxious his own anxiety would make me.
It wasn’t until he used the litter box for the first time that I found myself realizing just what I had signed up for. His poop STUNK. Not slightly, but the kind of stench that could fill an entire apartment in seconds, only restrained to one room. Never before had I cleaned up a mess so quickly. I soon learned that this was constant and at all hours. 3 am pees, poops, and the occasional zoom woke me up regularly for the first few days, and I found myself constantly exhausted, and wondering what I had done.
It is Bart’s nature to fill up a room though. His personality is too big to stay within his tiny body, and with every day he spent with me he became more open, and I loved him even more. Soon I learned to adapt. I changed his litter to food pellets helping significantly with the smell and my dust allergies. He got used to calling my apartment home and started to relax more. He even started to sleep with me at night, finally giving me a full night’s sleep.
We started to learn more about each other. He learned I was loving and safe. I learned he was energetic, but also often cuddly and sweet. He learned my schedule and always greeted me when I got home. I learned that he was a garbage-diving cat during his time on the streets and that no loaf of bread was safe from him. We started to lean on each other, and soon became companions. My house no longer felt empty; instead, it was full of love and friendship.