33: I’m Kevin, and I’m a Cat Dad

“We’re not getting a cat.” 

That’s what I insisted 4 years ago, and I had an easy case to make. 

I was more of a dog guy.  I wasn’t keen on the idea of lint rolling every outfit before heading out the door to work.  I didn’t want our new furniture to become a scratching post or our new apartment to smell like kitty litter.  I wasn’t ready for our social schedule to be compromised.  I didn’t want a large percentage of our discretionary spending to go to cat food and vet bills.  I’d rather keep my ear buds and phone charger instead of letting them become chew toys. Our friends would probably stop coming over because they were all of a sudden “allergic to cats.” Most of all, I’d prefer to sleep through the night instead of getting a 4 a.m. daily ankle gnawing because the cat was bored or hungry.  My resistance to getting a cat seemed plenty logical to me.

So when Jordan came home with Stella and Luna on Memorial Day in 2015, I wasn’t thrilled.  Yet, somehow she convinced me to keep the kittens.  So I stood strong and said, “Fine…but uhhhh….you’re taking care of them.”  I figured if Jordan would be solely responsible for scooping the litter, buying the food and supplies, cleaning up after them, taking them to the vet, and getting coverage when we go away for the weekend, it wouldn’t be much sweat off of my back.

And let’s face it, we weren’t ready for a dog, so if she insisted on getting a pet, cats were the next best option.  Lint rollers are easy to use, our furniture wasn’t that expensive so who cares if it gets a little torn up by the cats, and we could always spray Febreeze and open windows to get rid of the kitty litter smell if we needed to.  That’s how we approached things in college anyway.

We were beginning to get some raises at work, so why not spend the extra money on cat food and vet bills.  Head phones were bound to go wireless soon anyway, so the cats basically did me a favor by chewing a hole in my old ones.  And hey, maybe my middle of the night wake up calls to feed the cats would help me get up and go to the gym early.  Looking at it this way, I decided to tolerate Stella and Luna and allow them to live under my roof if it made Jordan happy.

But four years later, I found myself sitting in the Veterinary emergency room at midnight on Sunday nervously awaiting Stella’s prognosis. 

Through the hustle and bustle of the weekend, she had been hiding in an upstairs closet without eating or drinking for almost 2 days. When we found her, she appeared very weak.  I took her downstairs to get her to eat something (which is never a problem for Fat Stell aka Fletcher Cox), and she got sick again.  After realizing something was seriously wrong, I took her to the vet where I would spend the next few hours while Jordan stayed home with Charlie.

The vet detected severe dehydration, stomach pain, and a high fever, and recommended several tests and treatments that they needed to do.  I was asked to approve a few mortgage payments worth of Veterinarian care in order to take care of Stella.  While my heart may have palpitated at the first glimpse of the estimate, I didn’t hesitate to sign the paper.  We had to save the Stell Bell (I am now reconsidering pet insurance.) 

Alone in that waiting room, I learned and confirmed something about myself.  Perhaps, I should’ve realized it long ago when I became the one to scoop their litter and feed them at all hours of the day and night.  Or maybe I should’ve noticed it when I started coming home from a long day’s work and getting on all fours to snuggle them, or in the middle of the night when I realized they had stolen more than half of my pillow, or when my jaw would clench with love and affection, when I’d laugh at them barreling down the stairs the second I would go near their food bowl, or when we’d see them adorably cuddle up next to Charlie.  In that waiting room, thinking about all of the good times and all of the inconveniences, I confirmed that I’m proud to be a Cat Dad.

Luckily, after a few days, Stella was ok and they sent her home.  It seems like it was just an intestinal flare up that we’ll have to keep an eye on.  Now, Jordan and I spend our mornings before work and nights before bed holding her down like a cattle in a rodeo just trying to give her medicine.  But that’s ok, because that’s a role I’m willing to play in my life.  I’m a Cat Dad, and the first step is admitting it.