Don't You Forget About Me

I’d like to tell you that I’m outgoing and happy.  I’d like to talk about how I am secure and know who I am.  I’d like to say that I trust people and love everybody.  But I have to be honest.  Before a few months ago, I may have embodied all these things, but something happened and everything changed.  Two weeks ago, some people found me sick with respiratory problems and a fractured heart.  They found me lost in some wilderness of cold streets and hectic traffic and gripped by the numbing feeling of homelessness.  It was hard, knowing that in a world full of families and homes, I had neither.

Liberate and love me, no?

Everything happened so quickly; I couldn’t tell you how I ended up on the Austin streets or why.  All I know is that since the day the folks from APA rescued me from a nightmare and took me in, I have not had to scavenge or fight tirelessly for everyday survival.  And for this I am infinitely grateful.  But I want and need more.  Beyond my medical problems, poor hygiene, and empty stomach, I was still suffering terribly, aching for the most precious thing I had lost: family.

Sometimes I am struck by nostalgia as I watch eager families coming and going with new feline family members in their arms.  My family was, after all, my family—my home.  We would snuggle, cuddle, and play.  I remember sleeping at the foot of my human brother’s bed, purring in sync with his snores.  We were irrevocably bonded together.  Our hearts were connected through the highs of straight-A report cards and the lows of his teenage angst.  My brother would whisper in my eager ears about the schoolboys he lusted for; he trusted me to safeguard his secrets.  Though I don’t have a human tongue, I would share myself through my character, my open ears, my love, and my warmth.  In many respects, what I’ve lost is comfort, contentment, and love.  This, I crave. 

For the past two weeks, APA has nursed me back to health.  Little by little, they’re stitching together the fragments of my life.  They gave me medicine, food, water, and shelter from the elements.  When I arrived, my white and golden fur was stained black with dirt and caked with mud; my eyes were filled with mucus from dried tears and the dust that coated my famished body.  Now, my fur glistens as the snow, thanks to all the cleansing and brushing; my green eyes are not only open, but sparkle—so I’m told.  APA wrote up a little blurb on me that now hangs from my crate; a part reads, “Hurley is coming out of his shell.” The shell they’re talking about does exist.  They must have understood why I was withdrawn and reserved—that I wasn’t myself.  I imagine that’s what going from having a warm home to suddenly none will do to someone. 

Now that I have the chance to speak for myself, I must utilize this rare opportunity to make an adoption plea; it seems nothing else occupies my mind at the moment.  Firstly, you’d probably like to know why I am the right match for you, so allow me to say a few words about my temperament.  Truth is, I am one of a kind—unique—even beyond my distinguishing physical markings.  But I don’t stand out because I am overtly social or purr loudly to show my affection.  But, I listen.  Sometimes listening can be the most appropriate and comforting quality a confidant can have.  I do not lecture when you make mistakes or judge.  


To say a few words about my dreams and ambitions, I’ve always wanted to travel and see the world—but under other circumstances, of course.  If I had had the opportunity to formally cultivate my intellect, I would have studied psychology and art history.  Oddly, it almost looks as though Jackson Polluck had splashed golden-orange paint on my back as if to encourage me to pursue art.  (Contrary to popular myth, cats are highly sophisticated individuals; we too can contemplate jazz and ponder the revolution).  Having had time to reflect on my personality behind bars at APA, I would say that I am a feeler 75% of the time and a thinker the other quarter of the time, which means I am highly sensitive and have a high emotional quotient.  This is all to say that I am not a match for someone who needs entertainment at all hours of the day.  I am best suited for someone who seeks balance and emotional stimulation and security.  If this is what you seek, I am yours.    

  

Now, I grow about five feet, lose my fur, and become human.  Bianca is my name—not “Hurley” or “Here Kitty.”  I walk into the APA Resource Center.  I’m late for work and can only think about running in to take a few pictures, a video, and leave.  Seems heartless, I know.  I suppose it doesn’t help that my heart does not readily radiate love to animals; I am only now learning how to so.  Even as I am struck by mild nostalgia, of the sultry summer days that I used to chauffer my little sister to and from her APA volunteer job, cognitively, I know I am absent.  Even more time elapses.  My distracted gaze finds the clock on the wall; by now I am seriously late for work.  Having to wait to speak with the adoption coordinator was not something I had anticipated. 

Without permission, I start to walk around the cat adoption area.  It just so happens that the first cat I see is Hurley, the cat I chose to visit.  His APA apartment is a 2x5x3 crate with a food and water bowl, a kitty litter, and a toy suspended from the top bars.  Half of the cage is covered by a red airplane blanket, perhaps to offer a sanctuary from the bright lights of the room.  Instantly, I set down my car keys, phone, and cigarettes, and open the crate.  “What’s up, Hurley,” I recall saying, “I’m Bianca.”

As I squatted to his eye-level, he rose from his resting pose and within moments protruded from the cave of his wrinkled airplane blanket.  The light hit his snow-white fur for the first time as his eyes found my gaze.  What a handsome cat, I remember thinking.  What a god. 

Without giving it much thought, I remembered something my father told me about communicating with other species: connect through the eyes.  After all, are not eyes windows to the soul?  I suppose it might have seemed a little ridiculous to the APA volunteers that I was not baby-talking to Hurley, but rather just sitting and watching him without saying anything.  I searched Hurley’s eyes for a few moments and consciously blinked slowly.  Staring, from what I understand, having witnessed many cat brawls growing up, may be perceived as a threatening gesture.  As I began to blink my eyes, I made a concerted effort not to seem invasive or in any way threatening.  In response, Hurley’s eyes opened wide as if they were yawning (yearning?).  For the first time, I noticed the color of his eyes; they’re strikingly green-hazel and noticeably communicated with the green paint on the wall behind his crate.  He accidentally blinked one eye—perhaps just because of an itch; I reciprocated the wink.  Hurley seemed intrigued by the non-verbal and subtle communication.  He stretched his white arms and raised his head to sniff my outstretched hand.  Perhaps he was wondering why I wear vanilla musk perfume or why my fingers smelled of cigarette smoke.  Ultimately I do not know what he was thinking, but from his prolonged connection with my hand, I assumed he was processing me through my scent.

Over the course of the forty-five minutes that I spent at APA, I took three videos and 126 photos of Hurley.  I started to actually bond with him.  More than anything, I was intrigued by his multi-dimensional personality. At once, he was withdrawn and meditative, playful and energetic.  But even so, from the conversations I had with APA volunteers about adoption rates and preferences, cats like Hurley, while they are aesthetically beautiful, are difficult to pair with a family.  They said that Hurley was not social enough.  I simply could not believe that, handsome and interesting as Hurley is, he has been waiting for weeks to be adopted.  Overall, even though for a while I was distracted by my tardiness and other obligations, the experience was oddly peaceful and meditative.  Simply sitting and stroking a troubled feline was enough to make me spend a large portion of the next day searching for the perfect song for his video—music that reflected his persona and perspective the way I understood it.  Naturally, I chose a song that even reflected my own reaction and unforgettable experience with Hurley: Simple Mind’s “Don’t You Forget About Me.”

Don't You Forget About Me