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If humans can have feline soulmates, Toby was mine. The apartment was too quiet, too lonely after he died, so I emailed a local shelter asking about adopting an adult cat. They had so many, so when I went to PetSmart to see them, I let myself consider only the three that were recommended.
I chose CJ. She came right to the cage door to be pet – I thought, here was a friendly, loving cat who would cuddle like my Toby. It was a quick meet-and-greet, and the shelter worker picked up CJ – who cried out – and put her in the carrier for me. I should have listened to that crying. Or maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t, or I never would have taken CJ home with me.
She objects to being picked up – I’ve never yet, in more than a year, been able to hold her. I thought for a long time that she didn’t purr. She would follow me around the apartment, but she never asked for affection. She didn’t love me.
Or so I thought, until I started paying attention.
CJ purrs all the time, but so quietly that I have to put my ear right against her side to hear it, or feel it in her throat. She doesn’t ask me for affection but she craves it, and when I go to her and pet her, she can’t rub her head against me hard enough to suit her. She won’t lie on me, but she lies against me on the bed.
In other words, I have had to learn to recognize love the way CJ can give it and receive it. It isn’t the way other cats have loved me, and not the way I have loved other cats. But it’s CJ’s way of loving.
I might never have taken her home, had I known she would be so aloof. But I’m glad she’s here, and I’m glad I’ve learned to recognize the shy, reserved way she shows her love – it’s the real thing.
Story submitted by Ardis Parshall from Salt Lake City, Utah.
This story was originally shared on The Animal Rescue Site. Share your very own rescue story here!
