Being a First-Time Cat Owner

You can't shake a stick on the internet without hitting a cat.

I never understood the mania behind cats. I understood the history behind one of man's domesticated friends, but I never had one. My parents were dog people. My father decided to have sled dogs for almost a decade and a half, my first years of life dedicated to taking care and enjoying the talents of the upbeat, energetic animals we owned. My mother tolerated cats, but staunchly told my sister we would never own a cat.

My sister was the only person in the house that wanted a feline friend, despite her raging allergies. She would drift to cats at other people's homes, looking for a cuddle or playtime with the almost indifferent animals. My own thoughts in these scenarios was if I had to wait for a pet to decide it wanted attention, what was the point?

So, years later, as my fiancé and I watched Netflix together in our home, he told me about his own cat. My fiancé was very quiet when he was little, a quality now long gone as the charismatic hotel clerk he is today. His cat was his listener. He would talk to it contently as the cat would purr along. Through his cat, he was able to work on communication.

So, without too much thought, I said, "What if we got a cat? We can't afford a dog."

Within the month, we brought Jagger home.

Jagger was the name he had when he was dropped off at the overnight shed at my local SPCA. I wanted to keep it to respect the owners before. He was there for a few weeks before being shipped off to the Pet-smart up the road. That's where we picked him up.

He took a few hours under the couch before cuddling up to me, then the real work began.

I don't know Jagger's story. I never will. I can assume he hated enclosed spaces because he was left behind by people he loved before in a cardboard box. He does not like children crowding him. He is curious about cats and dogs alike, but cautiously so.

I had never owned a cat before, and I was more problem than he was.

Cats need their space, and will tell you when they don't want attention. I learned that quickly. I played with him to keep his energy down, but it never seemed like enough. He would yell at me after I yelled at him about scratching the couch.

"I don't know what you want!" I screamed tearfully one evening. Jagger blinked at me before leaving the room. We both needed a break from each other, and he was smart enough to see that.

Jagger and I learned from each other. I would warn him before clipping his claws, and he would gently nip me if he didn't want any more pets. I stopped tearing my hands away from his paws, opting to slowly pull away with a stern "no."

The more we learned from each other, the harsher I saw others with their own cats. My aunt has a large Maine Coon who hates people, and she doesn't trim his claws, a point I made very angrily at her one morning after he attacked me. He's the size of a bobcat, so getting torn into by him at a party was not ideal. Jagger's temperament is kinder and more patient. Jagger would never attack me. Around my aunt's cat, I feel nothing but fear, which I'm sure does not help the situation. A friend of mine from university swears her cat loves her, but when I see is a stressed animal that wants nothing to so with her. People don't understand cats, even if they own them.

This was more apparent to me when one night I told a visiting friend "Jagger is very friendly and enjoys cuddling more than petting. If you do pet him, be gentle. He may bite as a warning, so don't take it personally."

Not an hour later this friend lifted Jagger into the air with one hand and started pushing his fur backwards. Jagger looked at my fiancé and I in wide eyed confusion. Almost comical, if he had not then turned his head and bite our friend. Not lightly either.

Our friend was furious. "My cat loves that!" he bellowed.

Alas, not all cats are the same. Indeed, I'm not sure his cat actually enjoys it, but has just been loved into submission. Perhaps I am wrong, but nonetheless, he ignored my clear statement, and now Jagger refuses to go near him.

Jagger still has some vices. He gets over excited when new people come to play so he bites toes. Jealousy then takes over as he his suddenly not the center of attention so he scratches at furniture.

But he has some incredible qualities too.

He never scratches when I bath him. He tolerates before accepting. He and I meow at each other when I cook dinner. He let's my clip claws one paw at a time with no issue. He even walks on a leash, if only in the comfort of his backyard.

Jagger changed me. I'm still not what I call a "cat person" by any means. I understand the mania, but Jagger has spoiled me. I mean, a cat that fetches isn't new, but it's still pretty wild.

I'd like to think at the end of my life I'll be able to say, "I was taught patience and empathy by a cat," and my grandchildren will groan and go, "Sure grammy." Jagger is the quiet reminder that I still have a lot to learn, and that I can be selfish.

But to Jagger, that's okay, because I gave him a second chance.

So he gave me one too.