At the end of 2015, we lost our 17 year-old orange tabby cat, Oberon. He’d been sick for some time, so it wasn’t unexpected, but it was hard all the same. A friendly and easygoing companion, he’d been a constant in our daughter’s life. When we brought her home from the hospital, Oberon had instantly taken on the role of guardian, yowling and circling her in alarm every time she cried. In his last days, he was rarely more than a few feet from her side, and after he was gone, we knew we couldn’t live long in a cat-less home.
My husband found Opal and Godric online soon after. They were perfect: we’d been looking for a pair of siblings; these two were young, healthy, good with kids, and absolutely gorgeous. The shelter was about an hour’s drive out of the city. We went early the next day, worried that someone else might adopt them before we got there. As it turned out, they’d been at the shelter for 60 days, and the volunteers were delighted that someone wanted them. (“You drove all the way out here for cats?”) They even offered us a two-for-one adoption, because they wanted to make they wouldn’t be separated.
We don’t know much about their lives before the shelter, only that the family who dropped them off were moving and couldn’t keep them. But they were so frightened and timid. They lived mostly under the bed for days. It didn’t help that we had an earthquake the night they arrived, strong enough to rattle the shelves in the kitchen and make the bed feel like water for a few sickening moments.
They couldn’t bear being separated from one another by a closed door. They became completely distraught, so we learned to keep our doors propped open a crack at all times. They hated loud voices and heavy footsteps, especially those of men. Even now they take off running at any sudden noise. These cats were so different from Oberon, who loved parties and would make the rounds when we had guests to ensure that everyone had a chance to lavish attention on him. It took months for us to gain their trust, especially my husband, and especially Opal’s trust.
My daughter bonded with them first. They would come out of hiding to lie next to her while she read books, and slowly, they grew used to the sounds and rhythms of our family. At this time I was writing the early drafts of The Memory Collectors. In the novel, Ev, a young woman with the ability to sense the emotions and memories left behind on objects, has trust issues of her own. Witnessing these two gentle but wary creatures acclimate to their new home helped me think about Ev’s journey, as she slowly sheds her fear and opens herself, not only to her power, but to the people around her.
These days, Opal and Godric are playful, good-natured, and affectionate. When Opal wants petting, my husband is now her first choice. She follows him around the house noisily demanding his lap or the crook of his elbow. When she gets what she wants (which is frequently), she grows so relaxed she drools on him. Godric is equally cuddly, although he prefers we pick him up and cradle him like an infant. We’re all grateful for the trust they have placed in us, and for making our family feel complete.
Kim Neville is an author and graduate of the Clarion West Writers Workshop, where she found the first shiny piece of inspiration that became The Memory Collectors. When she’s not writing she can be found heron-spotting on the seawall or practicing yoga in order to keep calm. She lives near the ocean in Vancouver, Canada, with her husband, daughter, and two cats. The Memory Collectors is her first novel.
