An Unexpected Housewarming Gift (My first published article)

An Unexpected Housewarming Gift
First published in Alameda Sun, Vol. 8 No. 25
March 12, 2009

I was in a bad place. The stress at work was wearing my nerves raw and the apartment was a disaster area worthy of yellow caution tape. My depression had come back full force. But little did I know that what was going to help me to climb out of this dark hole would simply appear on my doorstep—quite literally.

My neighbor, Carrie, warned me that the cat who used to live in my apartment had wandered back to our apartment complex and I thought, "Oh great, just what I need." Then one night, a little cry beckoned at my back door. Peeking through my window was a goofy little face. This kitty was a sorry sight. He was skinny, awkward, cut and bleeding; the white fur of his coat so dingy that it was starting to blend in with the black patches. I immediately fell in love.

I started sneaking the kitty cat into my apartment, despite the fact that I had no pet deposit. I tried to not let the neighbors know what we were up to, so I left the door open just a crack and waited for the quiet pitter patter of four little feet. We were buddies right away and Kitty couldn't wait to jump up on my lap for a snuggle-session on the couch. He purred so loud, it felt like the neighbors could hear him through the walls. He walked back and forth over my legs and across the couch, too happy to sit still, yet not wanting the petting to stop (and neither did I).

"I want to keep him," I whispered to my boyfriend. It had been a couple weeks full of secret rendezvous with Kitty. Dom looked at me with a sad look on his face, anticipating my broken heart. He knew, as well as I, that this was a temporary situation and soon Kitty's real owners would soon arrive to take him back to their new home.

A month went by and my scrawny little friend was still hanging out and getting healthier each passing day. Kitty’s wounds healed, his coat thickened, and his spirits perked up. I finally gathered the courage to ask Carrie what was going on with our new resident. It was the first time I really voiced what I truly wanted, "I'd like to take care of the cat. I'll be his person." Carrie looked at me and a glowing smile spread across her face. "Yes! It would be wonderful for you to take care of him! I hoped for something like this to happen."

So Kitty started staying inside the apartment more and more. I went back and forth to the pet store buying all the feline necessities (no one explained how expensive this little act of fate was going to be!) I decided he needed a more fitting name. Like all new mothers, I sat on the couch with a baby-name book in my lap, flipping through the pages and waiting for a name to stand out. Every so often, I said one of the potential names out loud and looked over to the curled up fur-ball on the pillow. Most of the time he ignored me, but then one name in particular caught his attention—and that's how he became Archie.

And Archie was quick to realize that this familiar apartment was once again his home. This was where he was safe, cared for, and had an unlimited supply of head-rubs. But Archie wasn't the only one benefiting from our new relationship. Suddenly I had someone else to worry about and take care of, a reason to come home on time. There was someone who was elated to greet me as I stepped through the door. Soon, my depression became manageable through the hard work of counseling and with the comfort of my new companion.

Now, Archie is a new, healthily plump cat. His shiny coat still gets dirty from rolling in the dirt. He calls, cries and purrs constantly, reminding me of his presence so full attention can be given. He playfully annoys the other neighborhood cats, pouncing on them like they are one of his catnip mice (which are strewn all over the living room, as if there's been a mouse-massacre). He is happy, content and forever appreciative—and so am I.

My mornings now start off with a soft little furry paw gently tap, tapping my cheek. As I open my eyes, the loud motor-rumble of Archie's purr fills my head. His green eyes stare straight into mine with a look that says, "Wake up already, I'm lonely." He's so close that he simply leans forward and gently licks my nose in what I think is supposed to be encouragement, but who knows what Archie's really thinking.

And I know that all the stress, anxiety and hurtful feelings just slip away every time Archie makes an entrance. I think it's because he's my daily reminder that unconditional love exists. It's knowing that no matter how much pressure I put on myself—no matter how much I feel like a failure, a nobody or an unlikable fool—I'll always have that love waiting for me. And it nurtures the belief that maybe unconditional love really can happen and not just with a furry little creature, but with people, too.

Dana is an Alameda writer and a friend to Archie.