Throughout my life, cats have almost always loved me. I cannot count the number of times I heard the words “my cat doesn’t like anyone.” and within a few interactions, the cat was rubbing against me or purring in my lap. I never really liked cats because they were indifferent. Cats flocked to me, perhaps because I treated them to the same indifference they treated everyone else. I suspect that in the cat world, it was the challenge: “I bet you I can get him to pet me” or “I’ll bet you I can sit in his lap and purr, and he won’t prevent it.”

As my son grew, it became apparent that he was allergic to cats. He would beg to pet them and would be just as quickly feeling ill.

As fate would have it, my wife and I were taking our daughters to look at Halloween costumes one weekend day and the store was closed for another 45 minutes when we arrived. There was a pet store chain located right next to the Halloween store so rather than go home, I reluctantly agreed to go into the pet store. Because both my wife and girls had been begging for more pets (after we got a chocolate lab about a year before), I made it very clear that we would not be taking home any -new- pets today!

I was strolling through the store when the girls found me and demanded that I come see the kittens in an adoption enclosure.
The enclosure had a clear plastic front with a tall play area in the center and four small square sections stacked on top of each other on each side that allowed the kittens to sleep or play away from the taller center section. The girls were giggling and begging me for “Look at this one, Daddy. Can we take it home?” My answer was a clear “No.”

I walked over to one of the squares and was looking at sleeping kittens in one of the middle cubes when something strange happened. A small black kitten climbed up into the top cube and started meowing and pawing at the glass. How cute! It wants to be adopted. I walked to the other end of the enclosure and began looking at other kittens and the same black kitten jumped out of the cube and ran over to the other side to meow and paw, trying to get my attention. I called the girls over to try to distract this little fluff-ball. I repeated the experiment and moved to a different location and sure enough, this little black kitten followed me. I walked away from the enclosure to get my wife to see this craziness.

When my wife came over and with the help of all three girls, we repeated the experiment and no matter where I went and no matter how hard the girls tried to distract the little black kitten, she followed me and tried to get my attention. It was time to go look at Halloween costumes and the chorus of girls going “Can we get that kitten?” and “She obviously likes you, Daddy.” and other equally futile attempts to convince me to get an animal that I didn’t want. We finished our Halloween store trip and went home.

I was struggling inside. My son and I were estranged and if I brought a kitten home…there would be no way he could come live with me again if we reconciled. I would have to give the cat up for adoption again and that was just -wrong-. I struggled for most of the day and finally tearfully told my wife to “Get the damn cat.” My life had to continue, and I would deal with the consequences with my son if and when he decided to return. I couldn’t stop thinking about the little fluffball. She called the adoption number, and the kitten had already been adopted.

“Well,” I thought, “I avoided that bullet.”

The next day the adoption agency called again. The other adoption had fallen through and were we still interested. My wife went immediately and picked her up and she went to the vet for a health check and boarding because we were leaving on a family vacation in a couple of days. Her name was Autumn.

After we got back and picked her up, this scared little kitten refused to come out and interact with the family and was wailing in the master bathroom. I carried a blanket in and laid down on the floor and waited. For several nights, I would sleep for a few hours on the floor in the master bathroom and she slowly came out to me and let me pet and hold her. As her trust with me flourished, I began introducing her to the rest of the family. As she gained more confidence and trust, I began opening up different rooms in the house to her. As she grew, she began bullying the 70 pound chocolate Labrador retriever to the point that he would not attempt to get on the bed without her permission.

Time passed.

As my wife and I would sit downstairs watching television, the cat would meow from upstairs. My wife would meow back, but Autumn continued.
“She must be looking for you.”, she said.
Sure enough, when I meowed back, Autumn came bounding down the stairs, continuing to meow as I continued to respond. Once she laid eyes on me and checked to see if I was there, she would stop meowing and start purring, climbing up beside any person who would pet her.

My relationship with my son was repaired…and in the intervening time, he had outgrown his cat allergy.

My marriage was falling apart; while some things got better in my life, others spiraled out of control.

After over a year of negotiations, the divorce happened and the animals were split between the households: the dog to my ex-wife, the cat to mine, after all, she had chosen me.

My adult son was living on his own.
My two older daughters moved out to live with their Mom.
My youngest daughter Lexy and Autumn (the cat) became my daily focus.

After 4.5 years of cancer treatments, Lexy was admitted to the hospital with an extremely aggressive form of brain cancer. Two weeks later, she was gone. I went home that day to an empty house…but it wasn’t completely empty: Autumn meowed for me; when I answered, she came down and sat with me as I sat stunned at what had just happened.

Autumn was my only companion now.
She gave me a touchstone, someone to care for, someone to provide for, a constant source of affection and love.
She cuddled next to me at night.
She forced me to function: regular attention throughout the day, feed and water daily, cat litter change every other week.
She met me at the door when I left the house, if I meowed for her.

When it was time for bed and I started towards the stairs, Autumn would meow at the foot of the stairs and wait.
It reminded of the times when Lexy would demand prayers before she went to bed: “Daddy, you didn’t give me prayers.”

If I turned around to go do a forgotten errand, Autumn followed and meowed at me as if to say “It’s time for bed.” Depending on how I lay in bed, she curled either in the small of my back or in front of me at my waist just to let me know she was there.

When I moved my office desk, she complained until I brought a dining room chair to sit beside my desk on my right side where she curls up and sleeps when she chooses to do so.

When I climb in the bathtub, she puts her front paws on the side of the tub and stares at me like, “How can you do that?”

When I came home from working at the office, I meowed as I closed the front door. I heard the dull thud as Autumn jumped off the bed upstairs and came to the top of the stairs. If I meowed again, she ran down to meet me on the couch for cuddles.

The weeks and months and first year passed.

She is still my constant companion.
I am not alone.

In the quiet that followed, Autumn became more than a pet, she became my lifeline.

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Autumn reminded me that even in the deepest grief, love can come from the most unexpected places.

If you’re grieving, lonely, or simply have room in your life for something gentle and persistent, consider opening your heart to a black cat.

In shelters across the U.S., black cats are the most overlooked and the most euthanized, through no fault of their own. That statistic doesn’t have to stay true.

Save a life. Let them save yours in return.