A pandemic, a cat, and two broken hearts

In a year that’s been ravaged by devastation, social and political upheaval, and uncertainty felt to the furthest reaches of the globe, those of us fortunate enough to have survived thus far in the pandemic have leaned on our relationships to the end of their extents. For those of us doubly fortunate enough to have an absence of allergies or an aversion to our furry companions, we leaned on our pets to fill in where the load was simply too hefty for our human relationships to bear. For me, my Hildie was one such source of infinite companionship.

I met Hildie in the summer of 2015, but she wouldn’t become mine until February of the following year. That summer was one of those perfect Detroit summers, the kind where the crickets were so audible through my opened flat window they kept me up some nights. The kind where the weather was so balmy it remained red hot during even the strongest of breezes. The kind where Belle Isle beach was the only thing on the docket for anyone worth hanging out with — unless they happened to have a pass to the Yacht Club. That summer was the true renaissance of West Village. The strip on Agnes St was just beginning to blossom with the third wave coffee shop (of which I was employed), the vegan soul food place — with amazing coconut bacon I might add, and the neo-American fusion restaurant aptly named Craftwork. The historic home-turned-niche-record store, Paramita Sound, was in the height of its comeuppance, and the monthly Friday night Beat Profile parties were you could find anyone who was anyone. That kind of summer now seems like a far off memory of what is now an overly-gentrified neighborhood. What does any of this have to do with a cat, you ask? Well, I lived just down the street from Paramita and, that summer, Hildie moved into the house just next door.

My friend Lindsey’s boyfriend had just moved into her flat next door to Paramita and brought with him his gorgeous, blue-eyed, 2-year-old half Siamese girl. The moment I laid eyes on her I instantly fell in love. Having grown up with dogs, I had never fancied myself a cat person before, but I knew (or at least told myself) the minute I met this cat that we were connected. This cat was so friendly, would come right up to anyone, daintily requesting undivided attention. She was graceful, cheeky, and seemed to have a spark of wisdom that transcended that of an average feline. After spending a summer basically inseparable, Lindsey and I had drifted apart come fall; things got hectic, I was starting a new relationship, and she was expecting her fourth child.

We were hardly speaking when I got a call from her sometime in early February. They were moving into a new place and couldn’t bring the cat with them. I’ll spare the details but after some back and forth, I was swindled into taking in this cat that I knew I loved but wasn’t entirely sure I was prepared to be responsible for.

When I got her she was severely underweight, stressed out, and had a bad litter box aversion which turned out to be a well-masked UTI. We started our very newly budding relationship with me nursing her back to health, trying, and failing many times, to find just one type of litter she liked, fattening her up to the point where her ribs & hips were no longer visible, and going through bottle after bottle of enzyme spray to keep her from peeing all over my stuff. It was rough. There were times I wanted to throw in the towel, once so frustrated by her peeing on my bed while I was sleeping in it because I had accidentally shut the door that night. It wasn’t fun. I really thought I made a grave mistake I was not at all equipped to handle. After a lot of trial and error, and a great deal of patience I had never before extended in any scenario of my 27-year-old life, this problematic cat gained weight, became more acquainted to her designated bathroom, and warmed up, finally expressing the full spectrum of her very sparkly and spunky personality in all waking hours of her life.

Hildie had a sense of humor unlike any cat I’d ever met. She knew exactly the perfect tiny spaces to poke her head through to make you laugh. She followed me everywhere, especially during this past year when covid restricted life to the confines of home, she’d even “scream” at me from upstairs whenever I went to the kitchen…so dramatic. She would respond to even the slightest mention of her name with a cocked head and wide-eyed inquisition, really giving credence to the “curious cat” trope.

Hildie came to me at the very beginning of what would prove to be a wholly emotionally abusive and traumatic relationship. The year and a half following our union would prove to be one of the most confusing, alienating, and anxiety-ridden experiences of my life. My partnership was guided by a dynamic of emotional withholding as a form of punishment, sparking my anxiety and utter addiction to any form of acceptance. My life was completely steered by my insecurities. My friendships were greatly suffering due to my constant need for reassurance and guidance, but I felt I had no choice but to lean heavily because I was so lost in my own confusion. I felt like a prisoner to my own anxieties, utterly captive to their whims. My one saving grace, I’ve realized in retrospect, was maintaining a steady focus on caring for my feline soulmate.

Over the years, we shared 4 homes with a total of 10 roommates, 3 cats, and one dog, all of whom quickly proved to be her very good friends (except the cats who remained her mortal enemies, but cats, right?). She moved with me to New York, and then, two years later, back home to Michigan. She charmed and entertained everyone she met, helped me study in grad school, comforted me through every failed relationship experience, sat by my side during my grandpa’s death, and elatedly, stuck by me like glue during Covid quarantine. She never strayed from me even when I became estranged from my mother over a deeply traumatic legal suit, or through 2 very serious best friend breakups. Through so much change, loss, and alienation, she remained my closest friend and confidant and, during our last few months locked in quarantine together, my wholehearted definition of home.

Now, here comes the sad part. Because every story about a pet has a sad part, right? Well, given their comparatively shorter lifespans, basically, yes. Hildie was born with a complicated congenital heart defect that a veterinary cardiologist reported included “extreme thickening of her right ventricle, moderate right atrial dilation, a large ventricular septal defect (VSD), a dilated aorta and continuous flow through a patent ductus arteriosus (PDA)” which caused her blood flow to be reversed, flowing right-to-left. In short: she was literally born with a broken heart. Her condition caused breathing complications that escalated in the Spring of 2020. After months of medications, learning a lot about hearts and their inner mechanics, persistent (almost obsessive) monitoring, and a trip to the animal ER in mid-November, on December 12th, her little heart finally gave out and I had no further options. It will forever live as one of the worst days of my existence.

Though I am no stranger to loss, the absence of this being has felt entirely different and more weighty than any other has before. I was only 12 when I lost my aunt to an overdose. My world was upturned in a way a 12-year-old shouldn’t have experienced under “normal”, healthy circumstances (whatever that means). 9 months later my grandma died of cancer. She was my closest, dearest person and my greatest advocate. The pain was immeasurable and the loss stays with me to this day. Friends, acquaintances, far too many high school classmates, cousins, and dogs of mine have all left this plane for whatever comes next. At 31 I lost my last remaining grandparent. What has been different about losing Hildie is that she is the first thing on earth that has been unequivocally mine.

So much of my life has been spent feeling alienated and othered by my situation. Coming from a split home, I’ve often wondered how I managed to have 4 parents, 4 siblings, and 4 separate families and still end up the black sheep in every single dynamic. I spent my childhood split between homes, sharing parents, siblings, beds, bikes, and, most importantly, the spotlight. I was shoved into a world of perpetual invisibility by age 6 that I’m still finding my way out of. When I took in this neglected, difficult, but altogether perfect cat, I finally had my own thing: my family that needed me unconditionally and far more than she needed anyone else.

It feels silly to sit in front of my computer and write almost 2,000 words about a cat while the outside world is ablaze, but I also understand the great significance of approaching life with a reflective mind and an open heart. I know that my experience with this animal has afforded me wisdom and lessons that would be wholly selfish not to share, so here they are! The first lesson is the utter significance of finding something (a living, preferably breathing thing) outside of yourself that you care for and nurture and watch grow. While child-rearing may not be accessible or attractive to some, keeping houseplants or a garden is an incredible alternative for those who also happen to be averse or allergic to our furry friends. The second is that the being you care for will teach you infinitely more about yourself than you could ever teach them about themselves. Caring for another life is a sacred activity that will force you to grow up and mature in all the ways you are trying to avoid. Their wellbeing is almost entirely dependent on your attention and participation in their care. They can teach you how to properly care for yourself as well, or rather, will likely be a direct reflection of your own approach to self-care. And lastly is the lesson of selflessness, sweetness, and compassion. Caring for a being that can not and will not ever be able to speak any dialect known to your species is an exercise in extreme emotional resiliency, not to mention an acute practice in patience and understanding. Communicating with a creature you have such a bond with is a profound act of true companionship and, if you’re lucky, a best-friendship. Hildie awakened a sweetness in me that I hadn’t ever experience before. For that I am forever grateful.

Hildie was my best friend and my greatest teacher. My only hope is that every person finds their family, and every pet their home. Below is one photo of my gorgeous girl that I feel encapsulates her spunky personality well. Although I have over 1,400 on my camera, I feel called to share just one of my favorites. To my sweet girl, I love you forever. Thank you for being mine.