When I was six, I named my first cat, Rusty, after the protagonist of Warrior Cats. Rusty (the fictional book cat) was ginger. So was Rusty (my real cat). Genius, I know.
But about a year later, my Warriors obsession ended. The political exploits of fictional cats could only captivate me for so long. And right after that, I realized Rusty was actually a tawny brown, not ginger—my entire rationale behind the name was moot. But by then, it was too late. Rusty was Rusty, and he wouldn’t answer to anything else. Then, a couple years later, my family adopted Lily Louise. I didn’t change her name (I knew better than that), but I did hope to find Rusty a feline friend. That was around 2013, a decade ago, and today I can’t imagine life without my cats. My human relatives are great—but I can say that without Rusty and Lily, the Wong family would be woefully incomplete.
People often say that cats are unfriendly, emotionless, and difficult to bond with. Rusty is the ultimate counterargument. He engages in all the typical cute cat behaviors—eating, playing, napping, and napping some more—but his emotional intelligence is truly stunning. Rusty has a keen sense for others’ emotions, and I think he’s even picked up some human behavior. He’ll talk (meow) back and forth for me for hours. He greets people when they come through the door. When my brother returned from college, he asked, “Did you miss me, Rusty?” and I swear, Rusty meowed back, yes. And just earlier this year, when I was sobbing over my first failed test in AP Physics, Rusty came up to me, put a paw on my shoulder, and started yowling (crying?) with me. It didn’t just make me laugh; I also realized how ridiculous I was being. As an animal, Rusty had no conception of what AP Physics, CollegeBoard, or PowerSchool was. So why upset his compassionate soul over my grade? It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but it’s true. My cat is an emotional grounding force in my life.
Lily, on the other hand, is a little quieter and more reserved. She was adopted as an adult, so naturally, she’s skittish. She doesn’t really love people…but she definitely loves Rusty. At first, the two didn’t cohabit well. But after a couple weeks of hissing, spitting, and territorial catfights, they learned to get along. Once they did, Lily became what I like to call Rusty’s default girlfriend—I mean, she’s literally the only other cat he’s ever laid eyes on. Watching them interact is a treasure. They eat all their meals together, nap together on the couch for hours, and even groom each other as a sign of affection. If Lily’s not with Rusty, then she’s walking around the house searching for him. If Rusty’s especially hungry, Lily will give up her own share of canned food. Maybe Lily isn’t your typical lap cat. Over the years, I’ve never once managed to pick her up without getting scratched. But she’s sweet, and her level of devotion and care for Rusty is something to admire. It’s not as if I’m a cynic otherwise—but I believe in true love because of Rusty and Lily Louise. From family movie nights spent with a furry body on my lap, to nights filled with the sound of paws thundering around the house, the memories I have of my cats are precious, and countless, and good. When I picture my future, no matter how perfect the fantasy, there’s always one downside—I’ll have to leave my cats behind. Maybe that’s just part of growing up, but it’s one I’d prefer not to acknowledge. I’m seventeen now. My cats have been my whole childhood. I’m grateful for that. They’re with me now, as a high school senior anticipating graduation—and they were with me years ago, too, when I was just a`six-year-old kindergartener who loved Warrior Cats.
