This is such an uncomfortable post to write. Yesterday started off as a thrilling day - one when my dream of a decade or more was finally becoming reality. I was going to a cat sanctuary to meet a cat who I was then going to bring home with me. I was so excited. I had assembled all the equipment you might need for an indoor cat. It was all set up.
I went off to the sanctuary and the cat they had for me hated me. It was nothing personal - she hated everyone. I spent a few minutes sitting with her and stroking the other cat in with her and then I held my hand out to her so she could have a sniff. She gouged a chunk out of my finger and drew blood. Then whenever I got closer than a metre to her she hissed and growled. Evina, the sanctuary owner, agreed that she probably wasn't quite ready to be rehoused at the moment. So she took me upstairs and I met a beautiful 3 year old called Cookie. We got on very well. It seemed we were good to go.
She came home with me. She was understandably nervous. I left her to explore and did some knitting and every half an hour or so would make some sort of friendly overture. She responded when I did this and then went back to her 'safe' spot. After a couple of hours she was settled enough to have some food and water and then she got straight on my lap. She was very affectionate and it suddenly struck me that I had taken on responsibility for this little cat. She was now completely dependant on me. I was the one who would be taking care of her and ensuring she came to no harm for the next 10+ years. And that absolutely terrified me.
Somehow I had been thinking about this for years and been planning this adoption for months without this fact becoming clear to me. I had been so utterly stupid. How could I have done this? I didn't feel like I was 100% responsible for myself and I'd taken on another 'person' as well? I tried to calm down. I tried rationalising. I called my Mum. She tried to calm me down and she rationalised. She offered to come up, to take the cat to their house til I was calmer but I knew very definitely that this was not something that would have a short term fix.
Evina had been very clear that the sanctuary never lost touch with any of their cats and that if there was a problem I should call day or night. It was about 5pm so I didn't feel too bad calling her and she was lovely. She was so calm and understanding. She said this had happened before and that it was a situation where it was hard to know how you would feel until it actually happened. She came over and took Cookie away while I tried to hold back my tears.
I'm trying to hold on to the fact that that this isn't "it". Flash is out of the country for work til the end of the month but has said some lovely things by email and text, as have Mum and Evina. Flash said that this wasn't the end of my getting a cat - it just meant that "Cookie wasn't Smackdown". Evina said that Cookie had had a lot of cuddles and affection and a new room to explore and would be going back to the friend she had been sharing a room with at the sanctuary and so would be quite happy. Mum said...lots of Mum type stuff. And I have been telling myself that I couldn't have predicted this, that it is a temporary setback, that it doesn't mean I'm ill or getting worse again.
But...the little voice. Not, you know, a voice, in my head, kind of thing, but the almost sub-concious murmurings we all have that undermine our confidence. At least I assume we all have them. Mine is a kind of town crier. The experience leaves me somewhat humiliated - since I have been going on about getting a cat this weekend to anyone who would listen - but with a little more self-knowledge.
To be honest I feel utterly shit. I wanted a cat so much but it's the wrong time for me. I need to be completely confident in myself before I can take on responsibility for anyone else. Still, I wish I could have discovered that a different way. And now I've got to spend the next few days explaining to everyone what happened.
