the start of a relationship

It occurred to me that I haven't yet written about how Juliet and I met.

In 1987, our cat, Moonlight, a delightful, energetic kitten, was accidentally killed late one night. The humans mourned her for a long time; her feline companion, Harpo, mourned even longer.

At some point, I was ready for a new cat in my life, and I thought that even Harpo was ready. So I started hanging out at Buddy Dog, a local no-kill shelter. It's easy to go there, (or actually, I should say it's easy to leave) because I know that even if I come home empty-handed, no animals will be harmed in my absence.

One day in January of 1988, a couple of cats were brought in while I was there. I noticed a small black cat who was so frightened that she huddled in a far corner of her cage. The next week, I came back, and checked out all the kitties, still not finding the right one to take home. My then-husband said "what about this one?," pointing to the little black kitty of the previous week. "No," I replied, "she doesn't have enough spunk." "Well, just check her out anyways." And so I did.

These days, Buddy Dog has a visiting cage that goes from floor to ceiling, has toys, climbing structures, a window, and a chair, so you can get to know a particular cat in a pleasant habitat. But in those days, all you could do was take a cat out of a cage and hold it. I held the little black cat for a long time -- an hour, I think -- and she didn't wiggle once. And of course, at the end of that hour, she felt so right in my arms, and I knew that she was coming home with me.

She was three years old. Her name was Juliet. She had arrived with two other kitties, Romeo and Cameo. I would happily have brought them home too, but apparently she didn't much like either of them. So they stayed behind and waited to find another home.

Juliet was initially frightened; the slightest upset could send her scurrying down the basement steps and into hiding under the stair case. Patiently, we'd go downstairs after her, bring her out, and hold her until she was willing to stay upstairs with the rest of the family.

When my husband and I were planning to divorce, we felt fairly confident that we could divide the stuff peacably. We weren't so sure about the cats, but we didn't know what to do about them, so we decided to put off any discussion for a while.

The first night that I moved downstairs and my husband stayed up, Harpo spent the night with him, and Juliet spent the night with me. Harpo spent the next few nights upstairs until he felt that even animals as stupid as humans would get it. He then spent the remainder of our nights together visiting both of us, traveling up and downstairs all night long. Juliet, on the other hand, never slept upstairs again. We were fortunate that the cats made the decision for us and that we were capable of listening to them.

So Juliet moved to my apartment with me, and then moved again when I bought my house. She and I have been together eighteen years this month, a long and happy relationship.