It all started with a dog, believe it or not. There was a beautiful yellow lab and German shepherd mix at the animal shelter near where I was going to college. His name was Roy. I got so excited. I even contacted someone about purchasing a crate. Then I called my dad to share my good news and brilliant plan. I could hear his dismay on the end of the phone. “ Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked with exasperation he reminded me that I lived in a small apartment with three other people and it would be cramped. He then asked the consequential question “ Does it have to be a dog?”. I then remembered that the shelter had pulled two Siamese mix kittens from animal control. The first had already been adopted. I had never owned a cat before but my dad had told stories about growing up with a Siamese mix named Babe. I’d heard how he and Babe had played chase around the house and had a very close relationship up until they had to put her down. She had hopped into my grandpa’s car, only to be discovered when she started meowing. This was the kind of cat I wanted. There was of course no way to know what kind of personality the cat would develop but I knew she was affectionate because I’d been petting her in the cat room and she always seemed at ease. I bought a litter box, and a food/water dish combo, and headed off to collect the furry bundle of joy.  

I’ll always remember when the shelter employee went to go get her, she was lounging on part of the cat walkway getting ready to take a nap. She looked confused as she was lifted into the cardboard carrier. She cried the whole way back to the apartment. I should probably give her a name at this point in the story. At the shelter her name was Flower. When she left the shelter, I named her Willow. Once we were inside the apartment, I took her out of the carrier. She looked confused. I would’ve been confused if I was her as well. My roommates and I showed her where her litter box, food, and water were. By the end of the day, she was walking around the apartment with confidence that would indicate she owned the place. I got her my junior year of college and Willow remained an important part of my life throughout the rest of college and beyond. She would curl up on my back and fall asleep when she was a kitten and it was one of the best feelings in the world. She would run to greet me at the front door when I would return from class. It wasn’t always perfect though. She had a bad habit of running out the door and either hiding in the bushes or climbing trees. She also loved rolling in the dirt outside the front door. This led to her getting fleas and a bath she did not want. After that experience, I put her on a flea preventative. 

I feel as though my relationship with Willow mirrored my attempts to grow up and take care of myself. I didn’t always get it right but I was trying my hardest. I was committed to doing my best with her and with myself. During school breaks, we’d drive three hours back to my parent’s house. She didn’t like the car and would cry for at least part of the car ride. She would fall asleep after a bit, only to be woken up when I’d have to brake a bit too hard for her liking. Getting Willow taught me some hard lessons but good ones. She taught me that taking care of another living thing can be quite challenging. She taught me that unconditional love is always worth any risk of heartbreak. She was there waiting for me after my behavioral health hospitalizations and she was a bright spot in many dark moments. When our family dog, Molly, passed away, she helped me stay grounded. She has been a fluffy anchor in my darkest storms and I know will continue to do so.