Three Months of Penelope

Three months ago, after nearly a year of debating, I visited the San Diego Humane Society to meet a small black and white cat whose description noted that she was very shy but would come out of her shell in the right home. But when I met this little one, it was clear she needed a lot more patience and quiet than I could offer her. Across the room in the crowded kitten sanctuary was a gaunt silver and

orange tabby who could barely stand. Her name was Artemis, and I instantly knew she was mine. 

She had been rescued off the streets only a week prior, wearing a collar but no microchip, with a belly full of kittens. No one came to claim the young mama-to-be, and two days after her spay surgery, she wobbled around her cage, bonked her head on the wall, and nuzzled her way right into my heart. Twenty-five dollars and a fifteen minute car ride home later, Artemis was renamed Penelope, and she will live the rest of her long, rambunctious life as one of the best things to ever happen to me. 

A few years ago, I was barely able to take care of myself, riddled with mental illness and an eating disorder that had taken on a life of its own, shoving me out of my own mind and body. Through the beautiful, gut wrenching process of recovery, I reclaimed my mind, body, and soul from the depths of my own darkness. I learned how to care for myself, how to keep myself not just alive, but thriving. And every day is an uphill battle. But every morning, as a cold nose nuzzles against my cheek to demand breakfast, it feels a little less difficult. 

Another sweet, beautiful soul now depends on me to survive. I have no choice but to show up for myself so that I can show up for her. Every night as she settles at the foot of my bed, I am reminded that I am not alone. That, if nothing else, this fox-faced feline loves me unconditionally, even if I do occasionally kick her as I roll to the other side of my bed. Every morning as she chirps and yells for her chicken goop (breakfast of champions), she reminds me that I too have waited all night to eat, and I should not deny myself that pleasure and privilege. And midday, when I hear her thunderous gallops to and fro across the third floor of the house, I am reminded that sometimes you just have to let everything else go and zoom around for a bit. 

Three months with Penelope (aka Penny Girl, Penny Lou, Peneplope, Pen, Miss Girl, Crazy Girl, and Chicken, amongst many other nicknames) has made me a more patient person, a more alert and adaptable person. Penelope reminds me every day that there is still so much beauty and goodness in the world. My Penny girl reminds me that I am capable of so much more than I think. She is one of the best things that has ever happened to me, and I know we’ll take care of each other for as long as our lives are entwined.