Whenever we went into the local Petsmart, we would walk by the kitties for adoption. I always just looked (I think I knew if I allowed myself to put any of them in my arms, it'd be over). We'd been looking at kittens. We figured it might be easier for a kitten to adjust to a home that was still relatively new to all of us and to a home with a dog. Plus, the cute factor just doesn't stop. I wanted my husband to experience having a kitten. I knew the joy of kittens and wanted him to have the same wonderful memories that I did. As the years passed, boy, did I sure get what I wanted in the end. But those are other stories.
Shadow was a 6-8 month old rescued by St. Louis Animal Control. We knew he'd had a hard life but the ways in which he had been neglected and abused would never be completely specified to us. Whether it was because animal control didn't really know his entire backstory or because they were simply giving us the kindness of not having to carry his story with us, we'll never know.
He was a simple black and grey tabby, his hair kind of dull but his eyes bright and alert. A little small cat, but definitely not a kitten. He wasn't particularly noticeable. He sat in a top metal barred cage among about 18 other full cages of possible adoptees.
As I always did, I stopped at each cage and gave everyone a look and some high pitched kitty sweet talk. Shadow was interested. Sweet. He meowed and rammed his head against the bars where my fingers went to pet him. It wasn't until I went onto the next cage that he really "grabbed" my attention.
By grabbed, I mean Shadow suddenly stuck both his arms out between the bars up to his armpits. With his claws, he grabbed my shirt. He was not playing. He was getting me. His meows turned from "Hi, I'm Shadow" to "HEY LADY HEY! HEY! LADY!" I unstuck myself, giggled, gave him another quick pet, and went to look at the rest of the lot. As I'd done a hundred times before.
No matter how far I got from his cage, if he could still see me, he let me know. His voice covered all the other kitty voices. If I came within 3 cages of him, his arms came out to grab me again.
The Petsmart associate came in and asked if I wanted to hold him. My husband was at work. But, how could I not? I let her unlock his cage and put him in my arms, where his purr motor went on automatically and he kneaded like crazy. I knew. I payed her 40 bucks and brought him home. When my husband called on his way home after work, as he still does every day, he found out we had a new member of the family. He wasn't surprised and became immediately excited to meet his new cat.
Shadow when we first got him. In "his" room.
We put Shadow in "the kitty room". It's funny that we christened this room with this name that first day. Back when we had and expected to always only have one kitty. We put up a baby gate in the doorway so Mav wouldn't A) eat all the cat food, B) get in the litter box, and C) bother Shadow when he didn't want to be bothered.
Shadow reacted as any kitty would react when faced with a big new house and a big, really excited dog. He hissed, gave a swat, and ran under the bed in his room. He stayed there for several days (except when we enticed him to come out and eat or play). Gradually, he came out and explored. He decided he liked Mav, but she was already too scarred from his original greeting. She forgave him but I don't think she ever forgot. Although she outweighed him by about 80 pounds, he was clearly the top dog (despite being a cat) in the house.
Shadow, although a lovely name, didn't fit our new furry man of the house. He was no shadow. He was the star of the show, in the limelight, the king of his domain. This was his trip and we were all just along for the ride. We renamed him Atlas and it fit immediately. He held us all on his shoulders even as a small, long limbed cat. Atlas has always been wise and calm.
This picture I think really illustrates his personality.
Atlas has never seemed to want pity or sympathy over the first months of his life. He found himself here and immediately knew he had a new life. I think he knew that he was safe and that he had hit the jackpot. He's never been destructive or difficult other than a brief stint being too interested in one of our other cats. He seemed to forget he didn't have workin' parts. But, with our scoldings and time, he went back to his gentleman ways. It's like he knows he's handsome, and he knows everything going on around us has something to do with him.
3.5 seconds after I got the tree up on Atlas's first Christmas.
2.5 seconds after anytime I bring in the groceries.
Most of the time, though, we find him like this.
A favorite position. Pondering. Polite.
Once he was orientated to the house, he climbed into any small opening and chased anything that moved. He gained weight quickly (and happily). And my husband, the non-cat guy, was completely smitten. I now think that Atlas must have smelled my husband on me when he was in his cage. That's the only rational I can come up with for why he was so friendly to me. Turns out he didn't want to come home with me. He just wanted me to take him to my husband.
Atlas has such a deep connection and affinity for my husband that I barely exist. It happened quickly and completely. Atlas likes me and all, but he loves my husband. To this day, he will jump into my husband's lap every evening and just lose his mind in joy. He kneads so hard it leaves marks on my husband, whether he's wearing a thin tee shirt or a heavy sweatshirt. My husband works on the computer a lot, and often Atlas is right there with him, making it impossible for the hubby to continue working.
He follows my husband into every room. He "talks" to him. His purr can be heard down the hall. I still pet him (and I FEED him!), pick him up, and cuddle him, and he appreciates it. But it feels more like a favor to me than anything else. He'll initiate cuddles with me if he's hungry. Which is often.
He will never be full. For a cat that loves food as much as he does,
he's pretty darn thin. He should be Garfield fat.
We all know the attention he pays to me is just him begging and that really what he wants is my husband's attention. Always.
He used to walk around the house and meow. After a couple more months, we got him a friend. Yet, Atlas remained king. His part in our menagerie never changed. It just grew and evolved. He's thoughtful, smart, always watching, always thinking. He loves to play and is a big hit with the ladies (cat ladies, that is). Our vet, when we bring Atlas in for his yearly physical and vaccinations, always says, "I forget how handsome this cat is! And his eyes. It is unusual for a tabby like this to have this circle of amber in his eyes."
I know this isn't a story about my Heidi, but Heidi is as much a part of Atlas's story as anyone else. And even though she passed away unexpectedly almost a year ago, after only 2 years on earth and with us, I think of her every day. My heart still aches for her. As I know Atlas's heart does as well.
Cats grieve. Sometimes Atlas comes to us, and although it's become farther and fewer between, and he wants to be pet with lots of force and to play really, really rough. Like he played with Heidi. Like he only played with Heidi. And we try our best, and he pretends it's enough, but I can tell that we'll never be able to do it quite like Heidi. As it should be.
Even as a tiny puppy, Atlas approached Heidi entirely different than Mav. As Heidi grew, so did Atlas's affecton for her.
He would cuddle so close to her that my husband and I worried
that in sleep Heidi would accidentally smother him.
When we'd catch them rough housing, they'd always stop mid-rough house.
And give us the ever-perfected innocent look.
Nothing melted my heart more than
what we called their "forbidden love".
A dog and a cat. They're supposed to be enemies!
Not best friends!
It took him a few days after Heidi was gone. He looked for her and waited. Then, like most of our cats, he started crawling into my lap. Sitting close to me. Sleeping on top of me. For several long weeks, he put aside that I'm not my husband and we all grieved for her in whatever human and kitty ways that we could. He looked deep into my eyes with his pretty amber and green ones, and we just sat together. Waiting for time to pass. To make the unbearable pain just a little bearable.
Atlas slowly went back to his sole, hearty love of my husband. He likes to attempt to escape onto the deck or out the front door when my husband takes Mav out. Something he never tries with me, much to my husband's chagrin. Atlas gets about one foot out the door, flattens out, and looks up at my husband, who simply picks him up and brings him back into the house.
He also loves my husband's straws. Thank our dentist for telling my husband he is only allowed to drink his beloved Pepsi through a straw for the good of his teeth. The number of straws stolen has to be in the hundreds. Sometimes I pretend my husband's drink is mine. Because then Atlas leaves the straw alone. This also drives my husband bananas, but I secretly love it. Atlas may be king but I am still the ruler of the house in my own way!
That's my job. To mean business. To take care of everyone. But sometimes, if my husband isn't looking, I'll bat at Atlas with the straw. He'll take a swing, give it a gnaw on the end. Purr, purr. And then I give it to him, watching him take his prey in his mouth and disappear into the kitchen or down the stairs to enjoy his spoils. He knows he's loved. Just like we know we're loved. Our strange furry family really began with Atlas. And I like to think that his life also really began with us. And as each new family member joined our ranks, it was always Atlas who led the way. Who comforted and cared for all the kitties who were to come.
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