Something Missing

We thought something might be missing, and we thought it might be you.

We had our routines, my partner and I. Our morning coffee and toast. Our afternoon walks. Our late night TV. We had each other, of course, but we wanted a little something more, and we thought it might be you.

So we did a little research, and we looked around for you. We went to the local Humane Society, and we met some dogs there, too. They were all tails, panting, slobber and smiles, but didn’t feel quite right. My partner suggested we look at the feline friends, and so we went to the cat cubbies. Rows and rows of cubbies the size of moving boxes, filled with furry faces. That was where we found you.

You were in the back of your cubby. Paws curled beneath you, chin tipped down, eyes closed. Your fur was a tawny, dull brown. Your tail was wrapped around your front paws, hugging them, and you would not look at us. I tried to get your attention, making those silly kitty calling sounds that people make to talk to cats. Your ears twitched, but you still did not look up.

In the cubby next to yours was a bundle of kittens – playful and messy. Loud and ridiculously irresistible. On your other side was a flirtatious brown tabby, making biscuits in her plush bed and blinking softly back at me.

Yet I kept coming back to you.

The volunteer on the adoption floor said that you had been found alongside a road and that was all they knew about you. I wondered if someone had abandoned you – tossed you out when you became inconvenient. Or I wondered if perhaps you had never had a family before. Maybe you were born out on those streets and you had spent your days hiding, wondering what it felt like to be loved in the first place.

We took you home.

We stuffed you in a tiny cardboard box, buckled you in the back seat of our car, and took you home. We bought you toys and colorful collars with bells. We bought you a cat tower, catnip, expensive shredded chicken canned food, and a water dish with your name on it.

When everything was set up in the house, we let you out of your box to explore your new home and waited in prickling anticipation for you to play with all of the wonderful things we had purchased for you. But you didn’t come out of the box.

You were scared. I saw you tremble.

When you did finally emerge from the box, you ran underneath our bed, behind our suitcases and a box of my partner’s old photography equipment. There you stayed. Days went by. The only evidence that you existed was a tiny bit of food missing from the dish and some activity in the litter box. Other than that we never saw you. Never heard you.

Our days went about just the same as they always had before you came.

It was my partner’s idea to bring you tiny treats to show you that we were your friends: tuna, chicken, leftover salmon. It was my idea to softly read to you from my favorite novels and get you used to my voice. Even when we were out on our walk, we played classical lullabies on the sound system in hopes to soothe you.

I admit there were times I wondered if we had made a mistake. Maybe we were just not the family for you. Maybe someone else could do better than me. Then I remembered you in your cubby, how scared and sad you were at the animal shelter. I knew I would never give up on you, even if you weren’t the pet I imagined.

Finally, it happened.

On an ordinary Tuesday, during the late night television, there you came sniffing around the living room. Tail low, ears perked, eyes curious. I was so excited I wanted to run to you and scoop you up. Only I knew if I did, you would not come back out. So I simply held out the crook of my finger and waited.

And waited.

Eventually you came to me during your explorations and with a cold, wet, pink nose you booped my knuckle.

All those wonderful things we bought you, all the happy times and adventures we imagined, they eventually came to be. More importantly came afternoons of lying in the sun in the dining room and purring under my feet while I wrote at my desk. Enjoying watching the birds at the birdfeeders as much as we did. Sniffing the summer breeze on the balcony during the cocktail hour, feeling the air rustle your shiny coat.

You never liked the collars with the jingle bells and you preferred the beef pate over the fancy shredded chicken. You didn’t deem to drink out of your engraved water bowl, you liked water straight from the bathroom sink instead. You weren’t what we imagined, because you were better.

It felt like something had been missing, and it turned out it was you.