I realized today that I just haven’t done justice to the name of the site. The chaos is there, but where are the cats!? So, I decided to focus on them this time around. This may be a relatively short update since I wouldn’t want to bore you with the day-to-day details of my tiny terrors, my furious furballs, my cuddly companions of chaos, but I feel as though it’s time I give these meowing monsters their due.

My first pets, that I can remember, were a pair of cats: Claw and Furball.

Claw was chosen by my brother before I was born. My mother used to tell the story of the adoption. Apparently, she took my then five-year-old brother to the animal shelter to adopt a kitty companion. They meandered past dozens of kennels filled with adorable kittens and lounging cats, my brother rejecting each of them in turn. It was there, in a shadowy corner, he finally found what he’d been looking for. A hissing, spitting monster hunched in the darkness of a cage, fur the color of mottled shadow, ears flat against its skull. A paw ending in cruel talons swept out, lashing at anyone who dared venture near its domain.

Instantly, my brother’s eyes lit up in delight. “Mommy, I want that one!” he shouted, pointing straight at the void-beast-from-hell.

My mother’s face froze in horror, as she followed her son’s pointing finger at the demon in furry clothing that had seduced her child. She struggled to hide a grimace of fear behind a patient smile as she looked down at her beguiled son, “Are you sure, dear? There are so many little kittens that need homes.” She gestured at a nearby pile of living balls of fluff rolling about in a large tangle as the kittens tumbled and played.

“No Mommy! That one!” The little boy stamped his foot and insisted, finger still pointing at the caged horror.

With a final sigh, my mother finally acquiesced. The pair of them returned home with their new family member, Claw.

She was a bundle of hate who left anyone who dared get too close to her bleeding and traumatized, including what would eventually be my father’s rather unintelligent German shepherd with the perpetually lacerated nose. By the time I was born three years later, Claw was the only one who remained, the victor against an enemy that didn’t even realize there was a war to be won.

It wasn’t until a few years later that the next pet would join us. Furball. Perhaps not the most inspired name, but what do you expect to happen when you ask a child barely out of diapers to name the floofy little tabby kitten you just brought home?

I loved that cat. She was everything Claw wasn’t. Loving, patient, cuddly. She had no qualms about being carried like a teddy bear as I toddled around, clutching her like a comfort blanket. Everyone loved her. Everyone except Claw.

The vindictive hell-beast saw the love and affection showered upon her newly adopted sibling, and in a fit of jealousy, saw fit to see Furball banished from her realm through the cruelest means possible. She taught that sweet, little baby to pee on the floor. She had that kitten so well-trained to pee on the floor beneath my mother’s baby grand piano, that nothing we did could deter her. And eventually, after hundreds of dollars of damage, we were forced to give Furball up. Claw’s plan had worked. But Claw had failed to realize one thing. My parents had caught on to just who had coerced little Furball to pee beneath the piano. So out went Claw, banished from her demesne alongside her victim.

I was inconsolable after the loss of my best friend.

Time went by, and various other pets were had. Fish, who my family quickly discovered were our bane. We just couldn’t keep them alive. We finally had to quash our dreams of an aquarium for the sake of all the innocent lives lost. I cried every time. Hamsters who lived their best, if brief, lives. Two different cockatiels, who were both later adopted by different friends who could give them better homes. Our cocker spaniel, French Fry, who didn’t seem to understand what her breed was bred for and adopted a family of voles who burrowed beneath her doghouse, protecting them from any who ventured too close. And finally, a ferret named Nimbus, who outsmarted my brother’s father with ease.

It wasn’t until I moved in with my now Ex, that I adopted another cat. We went to the shelter together, not quite sure what we were looking for. We came away with a treasure. I found myself drawn to a litter of several-week-old kittens, but we knew they would require too much attention and training, so we were forced to move on. As we paced through the rows of cages, a loud meow repeatedly echoed through the mostly quiet cat room. Every time we passed a certain cage, another meow erupted. We finally paused and looked down. That’s when we saw him. A ginger and white kitten, perhaps six months old. His purr was as loud as his meow, as he flopped over, showing his belly when he saw us finally notice him.

Crass.

He grew into a huge beast. Not Maine Coon huge, but still shockingly large for a stray adopted through the local shelter. He had attachment issues. Heaven forbid you dare close a door, he would try to claw his way through, crying all the while. But pick him up and toss him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes and you could hear his purr clear across the apartment. I loved him like a son. And I still cry sometimes when I think about how he died. Growing sick and wane, barely eating, his soft fur matted. Even ‘til the end though, his purr would rumble right through me.

Lexus was a gift from a friend. A wonderful gift. While she and Crass despised each other, she remained too haughty to allow his taunts to phase her. Most of the time. The worst was when one of them would accidentally nick me with a claw and I’d gasp in pain. The other would immediately go on the attack, trying to defend me. I’d end up with far worse scratches trying to break the pair up until I learned that tossing a blanket over them would put an end to it quite readily.

Lexus passed away during the pandemic. She grew so sick she refused to eat, not even the treats she used to love. We desperately tried to get her help, but all the vets nearby were booked solid for months. My partner even drove her an hour away to the nearest emergency clinic who did nothing for her, even after he waited in his car for hours until they could see her. She cried the whole time, leaving him traumatized and in tears. By the time we finally got our vet appointment, there was nothing left they could do but end her suffering. I knew it was coming, but it broke my heart.

Vex and Vax came over a year later. We needed time to mend our broken hearts, to decide if the pain of another possible loss was worth it. We’d both been hurt too much. But eventually, we decided we were ready to love again. And thus, we found Vex and Vax.

Adopted from another shelter, this time our newest babies were born of the same litter. They have as close a bond with each other as they do us – well, just me now. Vax was the adventurous one who warmed up to us first. He was protective of his sister, comforting her when she was frightened of the new giants that had kitten-napped them. It took a while, but they did grow to love us, even the little scaredy-floof that is Vex.

I am not ashamed to say that they are my children. They are the reason I am still here today. When I was at my lowest point, they were there for me. They reminded me that I had someone counting on me, someone who needed me. Even now, when I feel the gloomies setting in, I take one look at the pair of them, curled up and sleeping on my feet, not caring that I have desperately needed to use the bathroom for the last hour, and a genuine smile chases the shadows away. I’m so grateful to them. To all my pets, for all the years of love they gave me and give me still. I love you all. Even Claw, who is no doubt watching me from the depths of Hell right now, still lusting for my blood.