What if there’s not enough love?

The weirdest thing is that moment when you’re about to welcome a new family member and you worry—maybe just for a moment—that you won’t love them as much as the family you already have. Or worse. You might love them more. You might favour them and destroy the bonds you’ve spent years building. A new family member can be a kind of catalyst. And what if the others don’t like them? What if they resent you for choosing to expend the pack? You can’t just get rid of the one you like the least; family is forever.

These are some of the not-too-crazy thoughts I was having as we made the long drive from Sydney to Hawksbury to meet Shara, cat 202 at the pound. The kids were in the back watching Rugrats and my husband and I were attempting conversation but we’ve been home together for a couple of weeks so there’s really nothing to share.

We get to the pound and follow all the social distancing procedures until we find ourselves in the cattery. The are three times as many dogs as cats and they are all going ballistic. The cattery is a small, smelly room with cat beds attached to the thin windows. Bowls of fresh meat and kibble are spread around the floor, mostly going uneaten but the thin predominantly-young cats wandering aimlessly around.

I look for the black one, because my heart has healed. The raw pain of losing my familiar, Messiah, has dimmed enough that I can cross paths with other black cats without gasping for air. Drowning in loss. It’s time. There’s a black cat size hole in my heart that needed filling. And there’s a black kitty sleeping on a window bed. I cross right too her and she wakes. Friendly and happy to be patted. But the number on her collar says 176. Her features are too sharp, her eyes more yellow than green.

She jumps down and starts greeting Deer Heart and the kids. Shara doesn’t appear to be here. The volunteer waiting outside says she will verify that she’s still here, she might have aready been adopted. So we spend time with the other cats. A beautiful tortoiseshell. A fluffy calico. A bossy tabby. Cat 176 is sitting at the door, waiting, it seems, for us to pick her up and get her out of there. When we don’t come, she doubles back. Nudges our legs. She doesn’t go off to eat or live her own life like some of the others.

“She’s still here,” says the volunteer. “Look under the beds.” It seems impossible anyone could fit under there, but sure enough, we find her cowering behind some furniture. She isn’t aggressive when we bring her out, but she’s certainly not interested in anything we have to say. And we know, right away, that if we take her home Sylvanas will crush her. I fell in love with her pretty face online, but to bring her into a loud house with three kids and a fairly aggressive cat more than twice her size would’ve been wrong.

The tabby takes a swipe at 176. She stands her ground. Comes over, reminds me she’s still here. Lets us pick her up. I try to convince 202 that we could be friends, but she just wants me to stop touching her. To leave her there, scared and lonely, to leave any of them in that hard concrete room… I felt awful. But it’s not possible to rescue them all.

“What do you want to do?” Deer Heart asks me. He agrees she’s a bad fit for our family, but won’t tell me I can’t pick her.

“She doesn’t want to come with us. But this one does.”

176 would have packed her bags if she had any. She liked all of us, and the kids agreed that if we could only have one, it should be her. So two days later, after her surgery, Valeera came home and she hasn’t stopped purring since.

Every time I walk into the room, she purrs. The first night, she sat at the foot of the bed and purred for hours. She even purrs while she eats, which she will only do if someone sits beside her the entire time. I wonder what her story is, but I’m so grateful she’s chosen to start her new life here with us.

As for Sylvanas, she blames Deer Heart for bringing this intruder into her home. She and I are still tight. And love? That stuff is infinite. There’s always enough love to go around.

Miriam Cumming is a full-time witch and part-time gamer who loves reading, writing, and everything hot. Thanks for visiting!