For the Love of Cats

I was trolling the internet one evening in search of a volunteer opportunity. My kid doesn't need me much these days, and I've been feeling that whole, "what's-my-life-all-about-should-I-be-doing-something-more" thing.

The verdict? Cats.

Thanks to the Google, I was able to locate a no-kill shelter nearby called "Purr-fect Companions." A few quick emails later, I was on my way to becoming a volunteer.

The shelter is located in a house where most of the cats roam free. There are two special smaller rooms where a handful of felines reside for either health or personality reasons. The owner walked me around the place and introduced me to the residents. Each one has a story. And it's hard not to want to take all of them home. Like a mantra, I repeat, "I will not bring any cats home. I will not bring any cats home."

So far, I've managed admirably. I go there, scoop the poop, help Rose clean a little bit, and then hang out with my new buds. It's important for them to have human interaction and play time.

The funny thing about volunteering is what you get back. I know it sounds corny, all that stuff about getting more than you give, but, at least in my case, this has been true. Spending time with my new-found friends, I'm getting to know all of their personalities. Ozzie and Fran are "cling-ons." With a little encouragement, they'll climb aboard and literally hang with you until you remove them. There are the cats that don't like to be picked up but do like to be petted. And all of the residents have stories. Gabby had a companion cat who was put to sleep, then his owners moved across the country without him. Mr. Pusserkins had to be surrendered because of a change in a rental agreement. One resident, T.J., was an outdoor cat who wanted to come in, and did. (Part of one of his ears is gone -- there's a story there, too.)

The shelter is like a microcosm of life. Most of the cats are older, and therefore harder to place. People want cute little kittens, not a cat who has lived through traumas and rejection and who-knows-what.

Sometimes I look at Mabel (our cat) and wonder what her life was like before she came to live with us. She, too was a shelter cat.

There was a time in my younger self's life that I wanted to save the world. Now I'm just aiming for a very small part of it. Maybe my scooping litter and hanging out with cats won't change the course of the universe. But it does make a difference to this particular herd, who have known pain and rejection.

Hey, Arthur, want to go another round with the cat dancer?