This article was originally published in 2020 in Art in the Time of COVID-19 by San Fedele Press.

A cat

I would like to rescue a cat. Or rather, I would like a cat to rescue me. I don’t really care what this cat looks like, so long as it has fur and will snuggle with me during this pandemic and maybe even after. It can be de-clawed, or not, since I don’t feel much of anything these days anyways. We can probably share cans of tuna fish for lunch.

I would also need this cat to wake me up in the morning, hopefully earlier than eleven o’clock which is when my own body decides it is finally time to move from the bed to the kitchen table. Eight o’clock would be preferable, but I will let the cat decide. It would also be nice if this cat could fall asleep on my laptop any time before midnight so I’m not awake until an ungodly hour, perusing the last remaining shows on Netflix. Maybe sometimes I would read a book instead.

The cat would be a nice lap companion as I spend all day on my computer, looking for companies that will still hire me during a pandemic. And his soft fur will be a nice place to wipe my tears around five pm when the crushing reality of my continued unemployment usually sinks in. I also really like it when cats play with pieces of string. That would probably keep me occupied for a few hours in the afternoon.

They say that animals can be a source of comfort during difficult times such as these. I know they’re right because I had a cat once. During my first year of Peace Corps service I adopted a kitten when I was feeling lonely and overwhelmed in my role as a White Savior in a rural West African village. Questioning my motives and my impact, I turned to this cat for comfort.

This cat was very loyal, and he finally stopped scratching me at about five months old when we cemented our inseparable bond. I developed a sense of responsibility when caring for him that I hadn’t developed when caring only for myself. Unlike me, my cat could not live on bread and mayonnaise for days at a time. I actually had to leave my house to get fish for him, and occasional vegetables for myself. This forced interaction yielded positive results, and led to better relationships with my friends and neighbors. They weren’t really thrilled about the cat, though. He had started reproducing with the neighborhood strays.

About ten months into cat motherhood, I moved houses. I transported all of my belongings across town and said goodbye to my cat-hating neighbors (good people though, I promise). I took the cat with me. But, being the adventurous outdoor cat that he was, my companion decided to explore our new neighborhood that first night and never came back. So that’s how I found myself in a new house, in a new neighborhood, and without my cat. It took only about a week of unsuccessful searching for me to spiral into the same black hole of loneliness and mayonnaise sandwiches.

So, if you’re wondering how I know about the mental and emotional benefits of cat ownership, I can assure you I do.

I’m six months into my return from the Peace Corps, still unemployed, still living with my parents, and still cat-less. And now, confined to my home. I know this cat will do wonders for me and maybe for you, too. Sure, he might scratch up your furniture. But I think there are worse things.