Betsy

She didn’t make any sound the entire car ride home. I was worried and kept checking on her.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” said Kurt. “Probably just a little nervous.”

I placed my hand on her again and she moved, I sighed. I was exhausted. I had spent the entire day getting ready for her arrival. Went to three different stores and made five trips to the car, all while covering Apple’s annual WWDC.

The car went over a bump and she made a small squeak and readjusted in her cage.

“What if she hates us?” I asked.

“She won’t. She’s going to be happy,” Kurt assured.

I went through the list again in my head. Food and water bowls, check. Bed, check. Food, check. Treats, check. Litter box, check. Planet-friendly litter that dad suggested, check.

“Do you think we have everything? Do you think she wants something we don’t have?” I asked.

“We’ll get her in the apartment and then see,” Kurt said. He was being kind putting up with my questions. My morning hadn’t been easy and he had the texts to prove it.

I’d wanted a cat since I moved to college five years ago. Nothing fixes a bad day like a purring cat. But apartments in Eugene and Portland weren’t as into animals as I was. Finally, after moving 669 miles away from the familiar, I found a landlord who obliged this obsession.

Upon moving to California, I was ready for a change. After two years of job searching, I realized the Portland area wasn’t right for me career-wise. That said, I was nervous. Sure, I had moved to different states before, and I didn’t know anyone those times either. But this time, I was working from home and not going to school.

That cut down my chance for social interaction significantly, and I desperately wanted a furry roommate to talk to all day, or at least look at.

Enter Betsy.

She actually chose Kurt. I am an unconditional lover of cats and was willing to adopt any of them. Even Cornelius, who eternally had snot dripping out his nose and clouded eyes that made it hard to make his way around his cage.

Kurt had never owned cats and wasn’t around them that much growing up, so I was curious to see who he would gravitate to. Cornelius didn’t make the cut, especially after hearing the potential medical bills that would come with him.

We went to the communal room where they put the cats that like other cats and don’t need a private space. I was chasing a gorgeous calico who wanted nothing to do with me when Kurt called to me from across the room.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor as a tiny black and white cat danced around him, rubbing against his legs. I sat down next to him and we pet her awhile longer.

She was primarily white with grey splotches on her back and ear. My favorite feature was her long fluffy grey tail that looked much too large for her tiny frame.

Overwhelmed by choices in the humane society, I told Kurt we should continue to look through the many rooms. As he stood up to go, the cat, Betsy, reached up to him and lodged one claw in his jeans.

“Oh I don’t think she wants you to leave,” a volunteer said.

At that moment, Kurt and I were in love. The volunteer told us she was 11 years old, which is perfect. We wanted an older cat, because they are less likely to get adopted, and already know how to use the litter box, and feed themselves.

Though I would have adopted her then and there, Kurt reminded me we were going way for the weekend and should wait until next week. Waiting is something I’ve never been great at. I checked the website every day to make sure her photo was still there. Sunday I called and put a hold on her.

Monday morning I woke up early, hit PetSmart and Safeway and bought everything an elderly cat would need. The volunteer told me to call before going in to make sure she was still on hold.

At 9 am sharp, I called the adoptions line and got a busy signal. I just figured someone else was calling in and began watching the Apple WWDC and taking notes. Through all the iPhone and iPad demonstrations, and Tim Cook speeches, all I could think about was Betsy.

I called every half an hour and left two messages, but still got no response. I was starting to lose whatever cool I had.

“Someone already adopted her,” I thought. “Of course they did, she’s perfect, and I don’t know how to make a stupid phone call. Shut up, Tim.”

Finally at 12:15 I got a callback. Apparently the adoptions center doesn’t open until noon, and that information is very clearly on the website, according to the volunteer. I ignored the annoyance in her voice and said I would be there at 5:30 to adopt my new friend.

I picked Kurt up from work and we drove straight to the humane society. I signed some papers, and she was ours.

A volunteer put her in the carrier, and I gingerly carried her out the car. I sat in the back seat with her in case she needed anything, but she was silent the entire time.

Coming from a childhood of cats that howled the entire car ride, this made me very nervous. I spent the car ride sticking my hands between the bars and making clucking sounds.

Finally, we arrived and let her loose in the apartment. She explored a bit but wouldn’t go past the kitchen, afraid of the street noise in the front room.

I wouldn’t feel comfortable until she had eaten, drank, and used the litter box. The first two were checked off the list quickly. Betsy walked straight toward her bowls and laid down on the tile floor, purring.

The next morning, she still hadn’t used the litter box, and I began to worry. My cats growing up were notorious for peeing in strange places so I began walking around the house smelling. Everything was clear, so she was just holding it.

“Maybe she doesn’t like that kind of litter,” Kurt said.

He was right, she wanted plain old sand, not the wood chipped litter that is safer to throw away. That wasn’t for our girl.

At 8 am, I went to Safeway and picked up unscented Tidy Cats.

“It’s early to be picking up cat litter,” the cashier said.

“I know. I got a new cat and she apparently doesn’t like the one I chose,” I responded.

“It must be nice to be a cat, make humans run around just to clean up your poop,” he said.

Within the next few days, it felt like she had always lived with us. She slept on the bed, rolled in the sunshine and purred.

She purred as soon as anyone looked at her or made a noise. A friend stopped by the apartment, she purred. Kurt said something to me about dinner, she purred. I bumped her in the middle of the night, she purred. That was the soundtrack to the next four months with Betsy.