A Cat I Almost Adopted

A Cat I Almost Adopted

Last week, I went to a cat shelter with two friends on a rainy evening. I was only there to keep them company, so while they played with the cats, I ended up chatting with the shelter owner.

The shelter was a tiny apartment she rented with a friend to house stray cats. There were more than twenty cats squeezed into the space, looked after by a small group of volunteers. Some of them had been living there for years.

The owner pointed to a recently rescued family. There was a mother cat and her five daughters. The daughters had somehow all been named after musical notes: DoRe, MiFa, SoSo, LaLa, and TiTi. I found this hilarious, mostly because the mother herself didn’t have a name.

While her daughters wandered around, played with visitors, and demanded snacks, the mother spent the entire evening sitting quietly inside a small white basket. She didn’t even take the treats I offered. She seemed perfectly content being left alone. Calm. Elegant. Independent.

Oh, I wish I could be like that.

For the next hour or two, I found myself staying close to her. If I were to take any cat home, it would probably be this one. I definitely could not handle a chaotic cat. Noticing my interest, the shelter owner explained everything: the costs, the responsibilities, even the possibility of fostering her first before making a final decision. My two friends encouraged me to adopt the cat and become a “cat mom.” The shelter certainly needed help. Even I could see that it would probably work out just fine.

I started doing the math in my head. I could afford it. I had the space. I would be able to do a decent job. This one was quiet, so she would not make too much of a mess. Moreover, having a cat curled up in the corner sounded quite cozy.

Conclusion: a very low-risk decision for me.

But I still hesitated, so I asked for a few days to think about it.

As a child, I was afraid of furry animals. Even now, I don’t particularly enjoy petting them. When I stroke a cat, it’s usually because I think the cat might enjoy it, not because I do. I don’t dislike cats, but did I actually want one?

I called another friend, and he said something simple: “Only take the cat if you really want the cat. Don’t do it because you feel bad for the shelter owner.”

That was when I realized I had been asking myself the wrong question. The question was never whether I could adopt her. It was whether I wanted to.

I thought about her again. I wondered whether someone else would adopt her. I replayed the image of her sitting in that little white basket, completely unbothered by the commotion around her. She would be perfectly happy in a nice, clean apartment. It just didn’t have to be mine.

In the end, I decided not to adopt her. But I am very glad that I met her, because she taught me an important lesson: to respect what I truly want. Not what made sense. Not what would help. Not what other people hoped I would choose. What I wanted.

And at this point in my life, the honest answer was that I didn’t want a cat, not enough to bring one home.

Maybe one day that will change. Maybe one day a stubborn little cat will decide that I am its human and refuse to leave me alone. If that day comes, I’ll reconsider.

For now, I am happy with my life exactly as it is.