What a Difference a Cat Makes

By Ruth E. Thaler-Carter

As I write this, the lovely Skitter is wrapped around my right arm, sound asleep and giving me a wonderful sense of comfort and belonging. It’s something I never take for granted and something that seems like a priceless gift.

I always liked the idea of having a cat, but my mom was smart enough to know that she’d be stuck with caring for any pets my brothers and I might convince our parents to adopt. She also loved birds and didn’t want an outdoor cat that might prey on them. I did have a guinea pig at some point, and my brothers had a hamster, but anything more than was not in the cards.

Once I was out on my own, I had cats and even wrote a few cat-related articles for an animal hospital magazine and a short story based on the experience of rescuing a cat from the street. At some point, though, an apartment full of cat hair was more than I or my computer could handle, so I took a break from living with a cat when I moved to a new place.

Shortly after that move, I met the man who became the husband I call Wayne-the-Wonderful. In our 30 years together, I didn’t feel a need for a cat. When he died in mid-2018, it was very hard to adjust to life without him. Early in our marriage, he switched from a different shift every week to “daytime” (7 a.m.–3 p.m.) only, which paid less but gave us more time together; after he retired, my home-based freelance communications career meant that we were essentially inseparable, which made losing him even harder.

The first few months after Wayne died were, not surprisingly, filled with all the requirements of dealing with loss. These were welcome distractions, but coming home to an empty apartment never seemed to get easier. The grocery store was equally rough – He loved going to Wegmans, and I kept expecting to see him around every aisle whenever I was there.

After a few months, I made a huge life change and moved halfway across the country from Upstate New York to St. Louis, where I lived years before. It was a healing move because I could keep Wayne in my heart without constant reminders that he wasn’t around anymore. 

At first, there were plenty of new distractions to help mitigate the continuing loneliness. However, a few months after the move, once I was settled in and assured that I had done the right thing for my mental and emotional health, I found myself on the Humane Society of Missouri website where a couple of cats caught my eye.

At the agency, a staffer brought out the first one – an adorable little ragamuffin, but she wouldn’t come out of the carrier to say hello. The second was a beautiful calico, who not only came out of the carrier but bounced right up on my lap, put her paw on my arm, and went to sleep. She was clearly saying, “I trust you, and you’re my person.” I melted.

When Skitter came into my life in January, she was about eight months old. Our life together seemed even more meant to be when I realized her birthday could be in my birth month of April.

Skitter (originally Mable, but that was clearly not her) had a new home, and I had someone/something to care for, look after,and snuggle with. I don’t know how she ended up at the Humane Society, but she’s the world’s best cat because she doesn’t:

• Wake me up at ridiculously early hours to be fed
• Edit my work by walking on the computer keyboard
• Knock things — especially my many pieces of glass and ceramic art — off tables, windowsills, or the mantelpiece
• Shred the toilet paper
• Shred the mattress from under the bed (and get stuck in the bedsprings)
• Make a mess if I’m out of town for a couple of days
• Throw up hairballs
• Eat the houseplants
• Poop in the houseplants
• Try to get out of the apartment whenever the door opens

and she does …

• Greet me at the door when I come home from errands or events
• Wind around my ankles and reach for my hand as I fill her food dish
• Curl up on my lap or next to me in bed, wrap herself around or put her paw on my arm, and go to sleep
• Flop over to request (OK: demand!) belly rubs
• Find places to nap in my view as I work (or maybe where I’m in her view)

When I’m at my desk, Skitter is curled up by my feet, keeping me company and occasionally commenting on the world around her. When I come back from errands, Skitter is at the door to say, “Welcome home.” When I settle into my recliner in the evenings to do some work and social media interaction on my laptop, she’s wrapped around my arm for a snooze. At night, she’s up on the bed, kneading the blankets (or my arm) before conking out at my side. I just wish I knew what she’s thinking when she stares into my eyes.

It’s still hard to be without Wayne, but thanks to Skitter, I don’t feel alone. As a “childless cat lady,” it’s especially important and fulfilling for me to have Skitter to look after, be responsible for, and be connected to. A cat — or any animal companion — takes us out of ourselves. In some instances, they provide a reason to keep going.  

As my CWA colleagues all know, there’s something special about the connection between cats and their people. It’s hard to explain to anyone outside of a group like the CWA, and it’s lovely to have the CWA in our mutual corner.

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