Today, on Sydney’s ninth birthday, I had a dream that Luca died.
With every cat I’ve had since Sydney, I’ve dealt with some level of worry that they wouldn’t make it past kittenhood. The day they’ve reached eight months is the day I breathe my first sigh of relief. When they reach one year, which is generally considered adulthood for cats, I am again relieved. FIP is overwhelmingly a kitten disease. They almost never see it in cats older than two. Luca is just over ten months now, only about two months out from adulthood.
But Luca is different. Unlike Olive and Margo, he wasn’t planned. Unlike Jace, I was the only one deciding which kitten to bring home, or whether to bring one home at all. The day I met Luca, I was bringing Jace to PetSmart to visit his foster mom. I’d been trying to get Jace out of the house because he was young, playful, and as near as I could tell, bored. He liked to chase Olive and Margo, and neither of them were too pleased about it. So I trained Jace to wear a harness and took him outside in it a few times. On February 14, I decided to take him to the TLC Cat Rescue’s weekly adoption event to get him out of the house and hopefully give him some stimulation, or at least wear him out.
February 14 was only about six weeks since my significant other of four and a half years told me she wanted to leave me for someone else. It was only four and a half months since our wedding. I was, needless to say, still heartbroken. And it was Valentine’s Day, the first of those anniversary days, the ones that remind you so viscerally of what you were doing on that day one year ago. So I also wanted to get out of the house. I needed to do something. Something other than sit around and cry about my ex.
These things are why I ended up at PetSmart shortly after lunch on Valentine’s Day. I walked over to the bright pink tents set up in the middle of the parking lot and found Jace’s foster mom, Maria. She was happy to see him, holding him and hugging him. She’d had Jace and his littermates almost since birth, bottle feeding them because their mother couldn’t produce enough milk. We talked a little about how he was doing. I laughed and said that he was too energetic for my older cats’ taste and that I obviously needed to get another kitten so he had someone to play with. I was joking.
But Maria said, “Yes! I have the perfect kitten for you.” I backpedaled immediately. I already had three cats. Three cats is a lot of cats for one person. But Maria took me to one of the kennels and showed me a little orange tabby kitten who was about three months old. She told me he was quite energetic and playful, even for a kitten. I told her I’d been joking about the second cat, but she said that Jace did need someone to play with, that he was young and another young cat would be a good companion for him. She took me over to another kennel, with a little black kitten of about the same age. Maria said this one was a bit calmer and also a girl, which meant there might be less chance of territorial disputes between them when they got older. She convinced me to start filling out paperwork and said I could decide which one I wanted after I finished.
As I sat on a folding chair scribbling on the adoption form and wondering just how bonkers I had to be to be considering a fourth cat, another woman came over and sat next to me. I had Jace in my lap, and she asked me about him. I told her how I’d adopted him from this same rescue and had brought him back to visit his foster mom. She said she was interested in adopting too, and I pointed her to Maria. They started talking while I finished the paperwork.
I went over to them when I finished to give Maria the forms, and she and the other woman were standing next to the orange kitten’s kennel. The woman was saying how cute he was, saying she might like to take him home. I felt a little twist in my gut, but I said nothing. I had to go back to my car and put Jace in his carrier and roll down the windows for him, and make room for the new kitten. I felt a sense of urgency, like I needed to get back to Maria as fast as possible, before the little orange kitten went home with someone else. I don’t know why. I’d barely even touched him through the bars of his kennel. But I didn’t want that woman taking him.
I went back to the tents. Maria and the woman were standing by the orange kitten’s kennel. The woman had it open and was petting him, but he kept trying to grab her arm and wrestle with her. “This one’s crazy!” the woman said. Maria led her off to show her the little black kitten. I waited, nervously shifting my weight back and forth.
Maria came back a minute later. “Did she decide on a cat?” I asked her. Maria said, “Yes, she likes the little black one.”
“Good,” I said. “Because I want the orange one. I don’t want anyone else getting him.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been ready to fight for him.
Maria smiled and said, “He’s yours.”
I was still terrified. I worried that Jace wouldn’t like the new kitten, wouldn’t want to play with him. I worried that my older two would just get even more stressed out with a fourth cat in the house. I worried that I was being selfish to bring home a new pet, that it would mean I gave even less attention to the three I already had. But I did it anyway. I brought him home and put him in the bathroom, and the other three sniffed at the door and made a few disapproving noises. I pet them and cuddled them, promising them that it’d be okay to have another cat in the house.
In the bathroom, I sat on the floor and played with the new kitten. He hid by the trashcan at first, but it didn’t take much to coax him out. He was bold and unafraid and happy and eager to play. He jumped around and sniffed and explored and wrestled with my hand. He tried to sneak out the bathroom door anytime I left, and when he was alone in there, his little mews would break my heart.
I named him Luca, which means “bringer of light.” The other cats got used to him over a period of days, and he and Jace began to play with each other within a week of Luca’s arrival. Jace stopped bothering Olive and Margo. It was perfect. I called him my little valentine.
There was—there is—something about Luca. His sweet little face. His affectionate personality. His energy and persistence. He jumps up on the counter every day, even though he is fully aware that he’s not allowed up there. He tries to stick his face into whatever I’m eating, and when that fails, he reaches out with a little paw and grabs the bowl or the cup if I’m too slow to stop him. He knocks things off furniture, chews on plants, and constantly kicks water out of the water bowl. That woman at PetSmart was right—he is crazy. He’s the best. He’s perfect.
But I’ve had a certain amount of anxiety about Luca that has nothing to do with his personality. It isn’t rational, but because he was unplanned, like Sydney—because I felt drawn to him like I did Sydney, I worry. I worry I’ll lose him like I lost her. The other day I couldn’t find him, and I almost panicked. I began imagining all kinds of horrible scenarios.
He was fine. He’d gotten stuck out on the balcony because he hasn’t yet figured out that the cat flap works both ways.
I’m not superstitious or religious, but when Sydney died, I tried to comfort myself with the idea that she came to me because she needed me. She needed someone to care for her and love her during her short little life, during the three weeks that she was dying. She needed someone to go beyond the standard treatments that didn’t work anyway, to ignore all other responsibilities and stay up late into the night trying to comprehend veterinary research papers, looking for anything that might let her live. I didn’t find my miracle cure, but I did learn about a treatment that ultimately gave Sydney several more good days, days where she felt better, days where the illness receded a little, days that we spent curled up on the couch together. I liked the idea that I’d been drawn to her because she needed me.
I’ve never felt that sense of instant connection with a cat ever since. The others I brought home were deliberate choices. I specifically went to the rescue group looking for Olive and Margo. My ex picked out Jason and named him. With my other cats, I loved them and cared for them immediately upon bringing them home, but our connection grew over time. It’s not a bad thing—just different. Until Luca.
This morning, when I woke up from that dream, I looked around in the dark, trying to see where Luca was, knowing it was unlikely I’d be able to make him out in the dim light coming in from behind my sunlight-blocking curtains. But a few minutes later, Luca jumped onto the bed and curled up beside me, all soft fur and fluffy tail and sniffly nose. He’s safe, he’s well, he’s here.
On days like today, on Sydney’s birthday, I think about her and wonder what she would have been like if she’d made it to adulthood. I’ll never know. I’ll always miss her. But right now, and for a good long while, I have my other ones, all four of them, and they are safe, they are well, they are here.