Last night, I had a dream that our cat, Hurricane, stopped in for a visit. I woke up in a good mood, the way I feel after an afternoon with a dear friend I haven’t seen in a while. Then, this morning I found myself lurking on our local shelter’s facebook page. It’s going to be a minute before we go down that road, but it will happen - something I never thought I’d do: we will adopt a cat.

It’s no secret that I am a dog person. I’m such a dog person that I’ve been heavily involved in rescue and have spent many a day picking up shit, wearing shedded dog fur as a uniform, and barely had time to run a brush through my hair. It wasn’t pretty, but that’s what I did in the name of loving dogs.

I’ve never disliked cats, but have definitely considered them second class citizens in the domestic animal kingdom. Cats were for sad lonely women who smelled like tuna and didn’t have good social skills. Cats were weird and unpredictable and loners…

But, here I am now… A cat person too.

I think it just takes the right cat for entry into this mysterious world of cat-loving. For those of you who don’t know, Hurricane came into our life by accident. He was originally our neighbor’s cat, they’d adopted him as a Katrina rescue. Hurricane ruled the neighborhood like he was the motherfucking shit. And he was. If you lived on our block, you knew and respected him. He would pop into visit different houses throughout the day and keep watch of the street all night… Which was where we came in.

Like everyone, I’d grown quite fond of Hurricane. After a slew of coyote attacks on neighborhood pets, I couldn’t sleep knowing he was outside. His original owners are musicians who tour all the time, so while they were away we began bringing him in at night. Then he got comfy and strayed less during the day. Eventually he was inside our house all day and night, only going outside in the early evenings for a few hours to check on the hood and go to the bathroom. With his original owners blessings, we micro-chipped him and made him officially ours. He slept in our room for two years.

Hurricane left our life a month ago, when he was hit by a car. No one was surprised by this, certainly not me, considering how he would slowly cross the street while speeding cars would come at him, honking and flashing their lights. Eventually they would be forced to stop while he slowly strolled across, eyeing the driver as if to say, “what’s your hurry, brother?” (Hurricane had a cajun N’aleans drawl and ate beignets and dirty rice). But, still. It was a shock to lose him. Being a dog person, I’ve lost pets and have felt devastated. I know that when that terrible day comes and Ruby goes to doggy heaven, I will be beside myself. (Although we’ve informed her that she’s not allowed to leave us) but I was surprised by how rocked my world was when we lost Hurricane. Hurricane, a cat. I cried for three days straight. I was not myself for at least a week. Still, I think about him every day. I miss his fat smushed face and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. We need a little more I-don’t-give-a-fuck in our house now that he’s gone. He was my cat. And I was his human.

And that’s the beautiful thing of it. Hurricane and his badass self live on with us and through all the cats that we’ll save through adoption. We won’t ever find another one of him, but we will adopt a cat soon and many cats in the future. His love grows.

So as I write this, I’m saying a little thank you to that little mofo for opening my heart. Please do the same for your pets, and give them some love. We’re all better people thanks to them.