It’s been a long time since I’ve written here. There are reasons. This is one of them, and the reason I’m starting again now.
As my longtime readers know, I experienced a severe emotional health crisis in March 2026. Two months later, I adopted an orange tabby and named him William Catner. Between an early spring and the arrival of Billy the Kittie, I had things to be happy about and things to look forward to. Both were important to my recovery, which is going well, by the way, even if it will always be a work in progress.
The Story of William Catner
I found William through a post in our local community Facebook group. I’d been off Facebook for two months and had returned only to post something in our Buy Nothing group. Instead, I found a cat.
A group of neighbors had been caring for a stray for weeks, possibly months. They’d tried repeatedly to find his owner without success. He wasn’t microchipped or neutered, but his behavior suggested he’d once had a home. None of the neighbors could keep him, so they were looking for a rescue organization that could help.
I’d been thinking about adopting a cat, and I really wanted an orange tabby. I impulsively asked if I could adopt him.
Two neighbors contacted me almost immediately. They agreed to bring him over on Friday to meet me and make sure my home would be a good, safe place for him. If it was, they were prepared to leave him with me.
Mr. Catner had other plans. On the morning of his impending adoption, he escaped from the garage where he’d been staying and disappeared. The neighbors were disappointed and worried, but I kept the faith. Around lunchtime, he completed the voyage home, returning to the place where he knew he’d be fed and watered. The rest of the adoption went as planned.
I could tell he was going to be a handful. One of my first purchases was a collar with a holder for an Apple AirTag, just in case he decided to boldly go where no cat had gone before.
He did. More than once, my children tracked him through the vast unknown of the neighborhood and brought him home. He also found his own way back, so when he eventually jettisoned the AirTag in the badlands, probably a neighbor’s shrubs, I wasn’t too worried. He’d survived on the streets before the neighbors took him in. He seemed to know his way around.
Life with William was an adventure. At home, though, he was affectionate and cuddly, and we loved having him in our family.
I was enjoying life, too: summer, Twin Cities Blind Sailing, and a couple of short-term relationships, one lasting nearly three weeks and the other nearly five days. I felt more optimistic than I had in a long time.
Looking back, that was also when I started writing less. When I’m happy, I tend to dive into projects and get distracted from others, including Permission to Be You. It’s not that I only write when I’m down. Sometimes I’m simply too busy being up.
Near the end of August, everything changed.
The woman I’d been dating for nearly five days had told me we weren’t right for each other. I was disappointed, but life was still good, and dating no longer felt like much of a priority. I thought I might take a break.
The next day, I was working while my kids did whatever kids do in those last days before school starts. Around the middle of the day, they came to tell me something was wrong with William.
I followed them downstairs and found him lying on the floor, covered in some kind of bodily fluid. He was breathing and responded when I touched him, but something was clearly very wrong. I put him in his carrier and took an Uber Pet to the emergency vet.
They asked for a $1,400 deposit to find out what was wrong. I paid without hesitation. They took him back for triage, and I waited in an exam room for what felt like hours. It was probably fifteen minutes.
The doctor cried as she explained what she’d found. As far as she could tell, William’s kidneys were very enlarged, and his liver had probably failed. He was critically ill, and the prognosis was poor.
William died about fifteen minutes later. Less than an hour after leaving home, I returned with an empty carrier.
The next few days were subdued. I kept working on my projects and tried to let the sadness and disappointment flow through me like water down a drain.
I’ve learned that the harder I try not to feel something, the worse it feels. Some people recommend setting aside a little time each day for feelings, then getting on with life. That doesn’t work for me. I have to live the rest of my life around my feelings until they’re done. If I don’t let them drain out, they back up until I drown in them.
So there I was, working while my feelings drained, and thinking, “You know, that was just a fluke. We loved having a cat. Let’s get another one before school starts.”
Then Came Nova
The kids and I piled into an Uber and went to the nearest Humane Society in search of our next furry friend.
There we met Nova, an entirely black two-year-old with striking green eyes. He seemed to be calling to us from his cage, and we were ready to answer.
A couple of hours later, we were all home. Some cats take time to settle into a new place. Nova wasn’t one of them. He quickly showed us that he shared William Catner’s intrepid spirit. After a few weeks, he seemed even more determined to slip outside.
Shortly after we adopted Nova, Amy entered my life. There was an immediate spark. After a lot of soul-searching on both our parts, we felt we’d found real love. I’m excited to tell that story, but it deserves its own essay.
Amy fell in love with Kronos, my guide dog, and Nova, too. The feeling was mutual.
We were both concerned about Nova getting out. But he usually let us catch him and bring him back inside, and we gradually began letting him explore. He never went far, mostly following the fence or skulking around the bushes in front of the house.
When he slipped out on Wednesday and went under Amy’s car, we decided to let him come out on his own and ask to be let in. A few hours passed. We forgot he was still outside and drifted off to sleep.
At 10:18 p.m., the doorbell rang.
That isn’t a normal time for someone to ring our bell. We were going to ignore it until we heard Nova meowing outside. Amy went to the door. No one was there, but Nova was lying on his side on the sidewalk. He didn’t get up when he saw her. When she picked him up, his body was limp.
Inside, he couldn’t stand. He appeared to be paralyzed. Amy screamed and called for me. I checked him over, and we got him into his carrier and drove to the emergency vet as fast as we could.
This time, they asked for $1,400 to begin treatment, or $200 simply to find out what was wrong. I didn’t have the $1,400, and things looked bad. We asked to speak with the doctor first.
She believed Nova probably had a spinal fracture. An X-ray could confirm it, but confirmation wouldn’t mean treatment. We made the difficult decision to euthanize him.
Just like William Catner, he was gone within minutes. We were grateful for the chance to say goodbye. We’ve been grieving ever since.
An Unexpected Visitor
I believe in God, and sometimes hope shows up in ways I don’t expect.
This morning, a white cat walked up to Amy outside her workplace. She had blue eyes, brown markings on her face, and a fluffy brown-and-black tail. It wasn’t an area where a cat should be, and Amy’s coworkers said she’d been hanging around for about a day.
Amy took her to a nearby vet to check for a microchip. She didn’t have one. We called the sheriff’s department to ask about reports of a missing cat matching her description. There was one, but the details were vague. The dispatcher gave me the owner’s phone number, and I called.
Her missing cat was male, with green eyes and more color and stripes. This wasn’t her cat.
We’re not sure what else to do. If we haven’t found an owner by the end of the workday, Amy will bring her home. It’s too soon to know whether we’ve been blessed with another kitty, but she’s already lifted our spirits.
Keeping a spirited cat inside when they want to be out is hard. The urban and suburban world can be dangerous, though, and we’ll be working hard to make our next cat an indoor cat.
Many pet owners have a tragic story. You’re welcome to share yours here, but I’d also like to lighten the mood. Tell me your favorite happy pet story. Silly stories are especially welcome.
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And, as always, thank you for reading.
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