Pine and Lavender by Jessica VanderWerff

 And our next response to the prompt, "An adoption story from the cat's point of view" comes from Jessica VanderWerff. A lovely ode to the human/pet relationship. We hope you enjoy, and please comment below. 

Bo 

Pine and Lavender by Jessica VanderWerff

Trigger Warnings: pet death

 

            I remember the first time my human held me. He was not like the children who picked me up too quickly. He was an older boy with a scar above his right eye, chapped lips and brown hair. He was gentle and his movements were slow. 

            “That’s our senior resident, you don’t want him. You probably want a younger cat to play with! Do they even allow cats in your college dorm?” The woman asked. 

            The boy stared at me and smiled. “I have an off campus apartment and I want this cat. He looks kind of sad. I think he and I both need a friend.” 

            The woman didn’t argue. In a few minutes I was in the older boy’s car. His apartment smelled of foods I didn’t recognize. He carried me into the kitchen and carefully set my pet carrier on the floor. He opened the door to the carrier and whispered to me:

            “You can come out when you’re ready.” 

            I walked out of my pet carrier right away. I was hungry and I smelled people food and kibble. The older boy chuckled and placed bowls of kibble and water in front of me. The kibble was soft. It didn’t hurt my remaining teeth like the stale stuff at the shelter had. I ate my food quickly. I had to eat quickly when I was at the shelter. Us cats all ate from one trough. If I didn’t eat fast, I wouldn’t have gotten very much, and no one ever shared their food with the slower eaters. It just wasn’t something we did. 

            “What should I call you?” asked the older boy. 

            I looked up at him. I had had a few names over the years because I had lived with a few families. The first family called me Harvey. I lived with them when I was a kitten. I liked that name but I didn’t like their children. They were rough and treated me like a toy. When the family had to move to a home that didn’t allow cats, they returned me to the shelter. The children were sad. I was not. Next, I lived with a family who called me Felix. I have met many cats called Felix so I did not like this name. The family often forgot to feed me so I did not like them. They left me behind when they moved to a new home. Their neighbors brought me back to the shelter. Then I lived with an old man. I did not know his name and he never gave me one. He smelled of sickness and chemicals but he was kind to me and fed me good food. Then one day he went to sleep and did not wake up. His family returned me to the shelter. I was sad for a while. 

            The older boy interrupted my thoughts, “I’ll just ask Lisa when she visits. She’ll know what to call you, she’s good with stuff like that.” 

            I didn’t know who or what a Lisa was, but when she came to the older boy’s home, her hair smelled of lavender, her eyes were kind and when she held me, her hands were gentle. 

            “Oh what a sweet old boy,” she cooed. “I’ll call you Sage.” 

            “Sage?” The older boy scoffed. Every grey cat I’ve ever met is called Sage. That’s so unoriginal.” 

            “How many grey cats have you met exactly? And that’s not why I called him Sage. He’s a little old cat grandpa and his eyes look wise to me. That’s why, Michael!” She smiled as she gave the older boy a quick kiss on the lips. 

            I would never be a grandpa, but she didn’t know that. When I was a kitten the workers at the shelter had done something to all of us kittens so that we would never be fathers and mothers. I was in pain for a few days but then I’d mostly forgotten about it. It didn’t matter now. I liked Michael and his Lisa. I neither liked nor disliked the name Sage but having a name and finally knowing the older boy was called Michael made me feel welcome. 

As the days carried on, Michael went to school and did work every evening. Most of his work was what he called studying, but sometimes Lisa would visit and they would go out together. One day they went out together and came home smelling of winter and the forest. They dragged a tree into the older boy’s apartment and decorated it. I stood at its base and looked up, feeling my eyes widen. I couldn’t help it, I had to. Despite my aging, aching bones, I began to climb. A few of the decorated orbs the humans put on the tree fell, but still, I kept climbing till I was mid-tree. I settled in one of the branches, inhaled the scent of pine and began to purr. I heard Lisa’s distinctive laugh that sounded like a pony neighing. (I’m a cat, we know what other animals sound like.) 

            “Look at Sage! He’s so cute, let’s take a picture with him.” Lisa sat below the tree, and my human, my Michael, sat next to her. He took out what he called a phone and took a picture. Afterwards, I climbed down from the tree and sat in my human’s lap. Michael hugged me and so did Lisa. I wished that they could hold me that way forever: the three of us, enveloped in the scents of pine and lavender. 

In the days that followed, the humans exchanged gifts. They even bought me something of my very own: a set of three toy mice filled with cat nip. I wasn’t very interested in the gifts. I was simply too old to play very much and my joints hurt, but I faked moderate interest because I knew it would make them happy, and I was grateful that they remembered me during their celebrations. Those were the best of days. 

One morning, Michael and Lisa began to take down the decorations. I grew angry and sad and bit Lisa’s hand when she tried to pet me right after she took the pretty star off the top of the tree. I did not mean to bite her. I was just upset because they were changing things that I’d grown to like. She was not angry with me. She sat down next to me and gently scratched my head. I looked up at her, trying to find some way to make her understand I was sorry for biting her, but the room began to spin. It was hard to breathe and there was a sharp pain in my chest. 

            “Something is wrong with Sage,” Lisa screamed. I heard her, but it was as if she was far away. Her voice sounded echoey and distorted. I felt myself fall over onto my side. 

            “Oh God, this is all my fault,” Michael yelled.  

            No, I thought. I wish I could tell my human no, that this was not his fault. This was not simply because he took down my tree. I am old. Not young-old like the older boy. No, not like him. Not a college freshman who thinks he is a man but is still very much a child. Us cats do not age as humans do. There is much we do not understand about your world and you understand even less of ours. When we age it does not always happen gradually like a human. Humans age like a whisper in a pine scented forest, cats age much more quickly and our time here is much shorter than yours but no less meaningful. 

I must have fallen asleep for a while because when I woke there were humans in white coats consoling my humans. 

            “His heart is weak, he’s old, there’s nothing we can do.” 

            My human, my Michael asked if he and Lisa could be alone with me. The other humans left the room. My Michael held me, gently as always. I looked into his eyes and tried to do what the humans call smiling. I wanted him to be sure that this was not his fault, that he had given me the best days I had ever known. I slow blinked at him, then he did it back. Lisa’s eyes were closed as she held me and my human. I inhaled their scents one last time: pine and lavender.