two handfuls

I’m not exactly sure when my cats’ birthday is.

Their adoption paperwork says October 1, 2020. But one of their microchip accounts says September 17 as the date of birth, and the other says September 21 — which I know can’t be right because they’re from the same litter. I believe they were born outside and eventually found by their mother’s owner; I know they were surrendered to Halfway Home Rescue.

As a person who loves dates and birthdays, I sometimes find it hard to accept that I’ll never know their birthday for sure, but I’ve celebrated each year on October 1 — meaning, later this week, Leo and George turn five.

I’ve not quite known them for five years — I adopted them in January 2021 — but I can’t believe how time has flown. Much has changed in the past five years, from my job and marital status to the number of bookshelves in the apartment that the boys can jump on, but Leo and George have been a constant.

I can’t really think about how much Leo and George have enriched my life without thinking about loss. I adopted them shortly after the death of Bowman, my first kitten, from FIP. And part of why I adopted Bowman was seeking joy after a year that included the deaths of my grandfather and great-grandfather.

In the hours after Bowman died, I couldn’t imagine ever adopting a cat again. I was so convinced that I tried to donate Bowman’s carrier to the emergency vet’s office. The kind employee wouldn’t let me, and less than a month later, I brought home two tiny orange brothers in that same blue carrier.

It’s unbelievable that those kittens are now five-year-old cats. It’s also a miracle to me: that I have gotten to love and be loved by these cats for this long. I trust we have many more years together.  

My lap, my heart, my hands are full. Happy 5th birthday, Leo and George.