🩳 Jim Shorts || How Did I Become a Cat Person?

I didn’t live with a cat until the 6 months I spent living with my aunt Posy, in the DC metro area, right after I graduated from college. She had a cat named Angel, which is a funny name for her because she was actually a devil. She was big, mentally ill, and feral. She hated me and she didn’t even like Posy very much. She hissed at me and lunged and made my life miserable.

I didn’t think about cats for years. I visited people who had them, but I never cared much about them. I mean, sure, fun to play with but they bite and scratch a lot and they’re not big dumb goofy companions like dogs, right? Who cares.

Enter Eli

Eli was my pal Lindsay’s cat. He loved me. I’m sure he loved lots of people, but this was new territory for me. He loved me. Cats didn’t like me! I didn’t like cats!

But Eli jumped into my arms whenever I saw him. He was the best cat I ever knew. He single-handedly changed my opinion about his entire species. He was like an ambassador from the Cat Kingdom. Eli was very wise, so I am certain that he knew how important cats would one day be me. Here’s a photo of me and Eli in Lindsay’s kitchen.

Suddenly, Cats Everywhere

In the last few years, my brothers all got cats. Will, Rob, David. My sister did, too. I met some more nice cats and I liked them. No offense to the dogs in the audience, I still love you. There’s room in my heart for more than one type of animal.

I got a brain tumor and went through all that stuff and I felt like I needed something alive around, something to take care of. Something more demanding than a plant, silently withering away on the windowsill, but not as demanding as a dog, which is not allowed in most apartments around here.

My brother Will had adopted a little cat named Emmitt that he couldn’t keep. This new cat didn’t get along with Turnip, who was there before Emmitt, and he had to live somewhere else. The rest is history.

Emmitt Is Very Small

You’re not prepared for how small he is. People think he’s a regular sized cat, but he isn’t. Until Bryn got Puppet, Emmitt was the smallest cat most anybody had ever seen. He is 7 lbs. I don’t have a photo that illustrates how small he is. You kind of just have to see him in person, which you never will. Sorry.

You Will Never Meet Emmitt

Something you need to know about Emmitt is that he is scared of everybody. If Emmitt detects you before you detect him (and he likely will), he hides somewhere deep, down, and dark. If I surprise him (not hard to do), then he will hide under the couch or the bed. If a stranger comes to the house and makes lots of loud noises, the bed and couch aren’t enough—he needs something even deeper, so he’ll slide himself as far into the back of the closet that he can get. The thoroughness with which he has wedged himself is directly proportional to how frightened he is, and how well he thinks he has hidden.

When my brother Will first adopted Emmitt, he hid in the most improbably small place in the room: under a dresser. He had barely enough space to fit his head. Will had a surveillance video that captured Emmitt slithering out from under a dresser in the middle of the night, long after the noises of the house had settled and he felt at least safe enough to eat.

When Emmitt joins me on a Zoom call (rare, because my raised voice scares him), I tell everybody watching to get a good look because that is the only time they will ever see him.

If I have a visitor, especially a visitor who likes cats, they’re always disappointed. “I thought you had a cat,” they say. Emmitt simply will not come out. The most ardent cat person can try every trick they ever learned but none of them work. One person even brought a can of tuna.

But Emmitt is extremely patient. His play style is Ambush Predator—he watches and waits. This served him well when he was a stray, but it makes him frustrating to play with. He might chase a fuzzy ball or something across the floor, but only once. He stops, hunkers down, and watches his prey bounce, scoot, and wiggle.

He ate that tuna, long after that person had left. Emmitt wins again.

It Takes Time and Patience

Let’s say you visited me a lot, and with a reliable frequency. It takes a while, but Emmitt might emerge eventually. In a couple of months, he might test the waters by sitting at the closet door. The week after, he might sit at the entrance to the bedroom.

You might go to the bathroom, and in the hallway, see this:

Look closely. (photo by Will1)

Oh My God, There He Is!

Eventually, after a few more weeks, he might finally come out and sniff around. He knows you can see him. He’s letting it happen. You’re a guest in his house.

It’s tempting to get excited, but trust me: don’t. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be happy that Emmitt feels comfortable enough around you to come out of his hiding place, because you absolutely should be. That’s a huge vote of confidence! I’m just saying: celebrate quietly. And don’t look at him. Don’t even acknowledge that he’s there. If he sees you looking at him, you blew it for that week. Better try again next time and hope he forgives you. If you, god forbid, talk to him, forget it! You just set the whole process back months, pal.

It takes even longer after that for Emmitt to let you pet him, and even then it’s a furtive permission. He needs the pets, and he wants you to pet him, but he’s also terrified. He’s being very brave, I hope you know. Terribly brave. Braver than the troops, honestly.

There Have Been Two Exceptions

Only twice in the entire time I have known him has Emmitt bypassed the process I described. One was when my pal Ben came to visit for the first time. Ben, at the time, had no interest in Emmitt at all, which might have factored into what happened after Ben came over and sat down on the couch.

Emmitt walked out of the bedroom like nothing was different, like Ben had always been there. He even rubbed his face on Ben’s shoes and permitted Ben to pet him. This had only ever happened once before.

With me.

When Will and Molly brought Emmitt to my apartment in Squirrel Hill, to drop him off at the home of a man who never had a cat before, he had no anxiety whatsoever. He walked around, smelled things, and even jumped up on my lap. He was home. I was his person. He’s been my best friend ever since. Will and Molly couldn’t believe it. This is the same cat that had hidden under a dresser for days.

I don’t know if I believe in magic, but something happened that day. It was my favorite kind of miracle, a little one, just for the people there to see it. We’ve been inseparable (mostly) ever since.2 He’s followed me to three apartments, multiple girlfriends.

This is the first time we met:

So Now I’m a Cat Person

He annoys me sometimes. His little meow sounds like a rusty hinge. He loves treats, and I try not to give him too many. He has a bowl of dry cat food that he can eat from whenever he wants. Most of the time he just wants to be near me. He wants me to pet him. He especially likes it when I rub his face. We have our rituals, like he follows me into the bedroom every night and waits until I’m under the covers and jumps up and hangs out on my chest while I read.

As far as cats go, he’s extremely easy. He uses his litter box, except when there’s a basket of laundry around, and if so he pees in that. I don’t mind, it helps keep me on my toes and forces me to fold laundry and put it away as soon as it’s clean. He doesn’t do rascally cat things, like knock stuff over or try to escape.

We make a good team.