Foreword

I wrote this post in December 2023 but decided not to publish it because it felt too personal. I've been thinking about it for a while and have decided to go ahead and post it anyway. Yes, it is personal. It has nothing to do with videogames. But still, I feel like this continuing story is such a big part of me as an adult that I want to tell it. It's about adopting a difficult cat and going through socializing it every single day with love, kindness and patience of which I never thought myself capable in this capacity. Raising Naru from an unfriendly stray into a loving, socialized cat that feels right at home anywhere, made me a better person. Naru is my heart, and I want to keep these memories forever.

Mura

My husband and I got married in 2018. Soon after we started discussing getting a cat; he really wanted one because he grew up with cats and missed having a pet. I, on the other hand, was very cautious in this matter because I never really got over the passing of my childhood cat. Many years have passed since then but that wound never healed and I don't think it ever fully will.

At the time we were living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment at the edge of the forest. I was wondering whether we could even afford a cat space-wise. Of course, a cat is not a Newfoundland dog, but I was still unsure.

Despite having a lot of anxiety about the prospect, there was a lot of excitement too. I love cats. I love dogs too. I adore animals in general.

We decided that we wanted a British shorthair, you know, the adorable plushy type. We were monitoring nurseries trying to find responsible breeders, while also reading a lot about feline behavior and how to take proper care of a cat in this day and age.

A while ago, before getting married, we went on a date to a cat café that was associated with an animal rescue. They rescued cats from the streets, took care of them, neutered, vaccinated, and socialized them and then, if they enjoyed human company well enough, made them a part of their cat café. People coming to the café could spend their time with kitties and then, if a particular cat stole their heart, discuss adoption. I subbed to their socials to follow along the amazing stories of rescues finding loving forever homes. They also posted a lot of information about vaccines, spaying and neutering, the most common diseases in cats, how to prevent them from scratching unwanted surfaces and pooping in unwanted places.

Now, the latter far outweighed the former; the stories of rescues warmed my heart just as much but the posts about taking care of cats had my undivided attention.

One day I found out that the rescue was hosting a big event that was basically a rescues' showcase. They rented a venue where they would bring all cats and dogs in their care (the ones healthy enough and social enough) so that people could meet them and then possibly adopt. I didn't think much of it; the venue was really far from where we lived, and we kind of already decided on a British shorthair. But it was the weekend, and my husband said, "We'll just go look, hang out with animals and volunteers, it'll be a good time." I thought that yeah, it'll be a good time.

The venue was full of people. We walked into the cat room to discover multiple kennels. Some kitties shared space while others had a little room all to themselves. Most of the cats seemed a little stressed; I was too. We were walking past kennels, looking at beautiful strays, hearing their stories being explained to the visitors by the volunteers in charge of the cat room. My husband kept looking somewhere to the side. I turned to see what he was looking at and I saw her.

It was a long kennel mounted onto a long table. It was divided into a few "rooms" by fine green mesh. Each room held up to three cats. They were all either lying down sleepy-eyed or watching people warily. Except for one. A cat of an indescribable color pattern was walking across the entire kennel, invading her neighbors' rooms by pulling the mesh to the side with her paw and just squeezing through the wall. She didn't care one bit about the people or the unfamiliar place, or her neighbors for that matter. She seemed completely absorbed in her exploration.

My husband couldn't pay attention to any other cat now. We approached a volunteer (who turned out to be one of the founders of the rescue) and asked her to tell us that cat's story.

She told us that the cat's name was Mura (a default name for a female cat in our language; comes from the verb "to purr"). She was rescued from a construction site where she had lived for years as a guard cat. I knew about guard dogs, but guard cats?.. As it was explained to us, she shooed away dogs, hunted rats and was all around a furry warrior of remarkable prowess. The workers loved her and took care of her to the best of their ability, but when the construction was complete, they left, and she remained alone. It turned out that the person in charge of the construction project was the father of one of the volunteers, and that's how Mura ended up in their care. She'd been with them for almost a year; nobody wanted her because she was considered "old" — almost 5 years old now — and had some health issues. Otherwise, she was a pretty normal cat: spayed, vaccinated, and socialized enough to live in the cat café without incident. She didn't like other cats much because her whole life she had to fight them to survive but didn't mind humans. We were told that there was a vet consultant in the next room so we could talk to her about Mura's health issues if we were considering adoption.

My husband asked if it was possible to hold her. The lady took Mura out of the kennel and gave her to him. She clawed onto him, scratching his chest, and then tried to escape by climbing onto his shoulder, from where she was promptly taken and put back into the kennel.

We wandered around the venue aimlessly. My husband was dead set on adopting this cat. I kept thinking about my childhood cat.

Then I thought, "Well, we can just leave." But then I found myself unable to really consider this option. I also wanted to adopt Mura. A whole crate of British shorthair kittens paled in comparison with a former guard cat with that wild look in her eyes.

We went to the vet. She pulled out Mura's file and told us that she had polycystic kidney disease, which she probably had been living with for her whole life. It could be hereditary, as some breeds are more prone to it than others. We'll just have to monitor the cysts yearly to keep an eye on their size and position but otherwise she was fine. Her recent bloodwork was completely normal, and she was successfully spayed with no side effects coming from anesthesia. She was also fully vaccinated with no side effects coming from any of the vaccines.

After that we spent some time in the hallway, thinking. Then we went back to the cat room, found that same lady that told us Mura's story, and told her we would like to adopt her. It seemed to me that every other volunteer stopped doing whatever they were doing and turned to us in utter disbelief. I was surprised. Surely, even older cats get adopted every so often?..

We were asked a series of questions: where we lived, if we owned the place or were renting it, if we were officially married and what would happen to the cat if we got divorced. My husband raised suspicion by saying we lived on the first floor (we lived on the second) but otherwise the lady was satisfied with our answers. We looked up a pet shop nearby and told them to pack Mura's things while we go get everything for her. They told us what food she ate and what cat litter she preferred, and we headed out.

At the pet shop across the street we got a big, sturdy carrier, a couple of metal bowls, a litterbox, a bag of litter, a bag of kibble, a scratcher, a soft transformer bed in a hideous pink color with a bees and honeycomb pattern, and a random assortment of toys. Then we rushed back.

As we walked back in, all the volunteers gathered around us as if adopting Mura was some sort of historical event. They put her in the carrier (she didn't really want to go in there) and handed us a folder with all her documents: her passport, the latest bloodwork, the latest ultrasound and such. They also told us who her vet was and gave us a bunch of how-to instructions: how to use eardrops and eyedrops on a cat, if need be, as well as a list of general recommendations and cat care tips. We signed a contract stating that if we were unable to care for Mura for any reason, we would return her to them, as opposed to throwing her out or giving her to a third party. I vividly remember that in some document there was a "notable features" section, and I thought they'd mention the freckles Mura had in her eye. But they wrote "a ginger spot on the forehead".

Everyone was waving us goodbye. There was barely a free spot to stand; everyone poured in from other rooms to say goodbye to Mura. She seemed to have secured quite a reputation for herself; we had seen several cats being adopted at the event, but not one with such fanfare.

We left the venue. December 8, 2018 — a cold gloomy day with thick clouds so low it seemed I could touch them. The day we adopted a five-year-old cat.

Naru

We read a lot about the first days after you bring home a new cat. You're supposed to put them in a separate room with all their things so they can slowly explore at their own pace. Then, as they gain more courage and trust in you, you can gradually open up the rest of the house.

Well, we only had one room in our apartment so we kind of allocated whatever free space we had to Mura. We put her litter box there, food, water, bed, and the carrier. Then we opened it to see if she'd even come out. We weren't going to push her if she decided to stay in there for a while and just observe.

She came out of the carrier like she owned the place. Smelled the food and ignored it. Drank some water. Touched the litter with her paw, acknowledging it. Then she proceeded to explore every nook and cranny of the apartment, touching everything with her paw — not in a mischievous way — and jumping on every surface within her reach. She was like a roomba when you turn it on for the first time and it explores your place for a while, drawing a map. We just sat on the couch, dumbfounded. This cat wasn't afraid of anything. The many articles and videos that we perused didn't prepare us for a cat that was Mura.

We quickly realized that we didn't need to keep her stuff in the middle of the room and that she clearly wouldn't hide anywhere so we just moved everything to designated places.

This picture was taken immediately after she completed her exploration. She wasn't scared at all and felt right at home.

We didn't plan to give her a new name if she was content with "Mura”, but she honestly didn't care and never answered when we called her. So, we decided to give her a new name. We contemplated "Moira" for a while but then ended up naming her Naru. We were watching Barakamon at the time, and she seemed to share a lot of similarities with the anime's little protagonist.

Almost immediately we found out that Naru bit. A lot. It wasn't really possible to pet her without ending up with a punctured hand. Initially we thought it was because of the adaptation period and all, but it never really stopped. Petting attempt = bleeding hands. She was never actively aggressive and lashed out only when we tried to communicate with her. At the same time, she seemed to feel right at home; never once did she hide anywhere. She was clearly enjoying her new surroundings, but she would've enjoyed them even more if we weren't there.

We thought to bribe her with food. She hated it. Her kibble was the only thing she displayed any interest in. She was terrified of wet food. We tried all types of canned cat food, wet cat food, a zillion types of treats with different proteins and whatnot — she'd rather starve. At one point we talked to our vet about it. She was surprised and asked us if Naru had trouble drinking water. She didn't. Then it was concluded that it was probably a type of trauma. Maybe she got food poisoning from a similar type of food, or someone tried to poison her intentionally when she was living on the streets. A horrifying thought.

Human food also disgusted her. I gave her pieces of shrimp and beef to smell; she always made this "I'm gonna puke" face and ran away. So, no bribing with food.

The abysmal pink bees. They still haunt me lol

Then we tried toys. Naru wasn't really into toys. What good are artificial toys if you could just bite onto a meaty human hand and never let go? And we tried all types of toys under the moon. The bird-type toys didn't interest her at all. Toys with little bells confused her because she couldn't really tell where the sound was coming from (likely due to a brain trauma she sustained at some point in her stray life) and just started moving her head in all directions. She didn't chase balls. She wanted to hunt prey. She tried to escape through the door because she wanted to explore the whole wide world, not just a small apartment.

Months passed. Sometimes I would lie down on the couch near her, and she would purr quietly as if to show me that she didn't mind my presence at the time. But when I tried to touch her — BAM! — she'd bite my hand so hard it would look like I stapled it. She never scratched; she just bit ferociously with a bite force of a small fluffy crocodile. Sometimes she would bite into my hand and start tearing it apart, clinging so hard I had to pull her away by the scruff of her neck. She never ran away, and she never hissed at me. She was never afraid. It was all just a good hunt.

You're probably wondering how the heck was this cat allowed into a cat café where people come to cuddle with kitties? I was wondering the same thing. There wasn't a single incident involving her. She allowed people to pet her, she was civil with other cats. Mura was very good at putting on a sweet cat persona. Naru, however, wanted nothing to do with humans at all.

Every single day we tried our best to treat Naru with love and patience as we taught her what human companionship meant. There was no victory too small. Every time we were able to touch her even for a brief moment without getting our hands punctured by her sharp fangs — it was a win. Every time she didn't jump off of a windowsill when I came to look out the window with her — it was a win. Every time she chose to spend even a minute around us as opposed to being alone. Every time she pawed at a toy, even if she never touched it again. Every time she sniffed something from the palm of my hand. Every time she quietly purred for whatever reason, we chose to think she was purring because she was feeling better around us. We did not push Naru past her limits; if it wasn't a day for communication, then it just wasn't. My husband was usually the judge of that; unlike me, he could always tell when Naru just wanted to be left alone.

I read a lot about feline behavior and studied the socialization cases of absolutely feral cats that were still able to adjust to a life with humans. Even though Naru wasn't all that feral (she just despised humans), I felt like every article I read and every video I watched was a tiny step forward. "There isn't a beast so wild that it won't respond to kindness", said the profile of one of the rescue's volunteers. Silly as it was, it kept me going.

For the first year or so she didn't meow. At all. We just assumed she didn't know how. Later I learned that, apparently, cats do not meow all that often to communicate with other cats; they use other types of signals. Little kittens meow to communicate with their mom, but as they grow older, they stop. For adult cats, meowing is solely about communicating with humans. When she meowed for the first time, we were startled. She definitely knew how; she just didn't want to really communicate with us until now. I think, at the time I didn't even realize what a big win that was.

We experienced several setbacks along the way, which was expected. Naru got an ear infection and we had to treat her with drops — she hated it. We wrapped her in a towel like a little burrito and she clawed her way out. The infection cleared up, but we had to regain the trust points we lost during the Grand Ear Betrayal.

Sometimes Naru was a snail

It's difficult to say what drove me. I guess I just felt that it was in our power to give this cat a better, safer life and two friends. I also believed in her with all my heart. I just had this feeling that she wanted this new amazing life, but she was just too bitter from her previous experiences to believe it was possible. She spent four years on the streets, then a year between foster homes and a cat café. Like every stray, she deserved a forever home.

Six or seven months after we adopted her, Naru jumped on my lap. I froze in place. She laid down. Slowly, I tried to touch her — and immediately got bitten again. No touching then. She fell asleep. I was about to cry.

We spent three years in that apartment and then moved to another city, where we rented a place three times bigger. Naru was feeling great. She grew substantially for some reason and became a really big cat. We learned how to trim her claws, got her used to brushing and even walking on a leash a little bit. She retained all of her feistiness but now knew better when to show it. All she wanted now was her kibble, a good game of chase and hunt, and endless sweet cuddles. She purred like a tractor. Now we recognized what felt like 50 different types of Naru's meows. She became quite the conversationalist.

Naru didn't like flying on a plane because her ears popped, and she didn't really know what that feeling was. We thought she'd be tired from all the travel but when we opened the carrier in our new place, she dashed out and started meticulously exploring all the new rooms and corridors, just like she did the first time. I followed her around and indicated the surfaces she wasn't supposed to be allowed onto by saying, "Naru, no". She never jumped on them again.

While we were living there, she developed asthma. As we were waiting for the pet aerosol chamber to arrive, we were giving her saline treatments using the child mask that came with my nebulizer. We didn't really have time to slowly teach her about the procedure and get her used to it gradually, but she still handled it very well and got better over time.

Naru's Big Journey

The most indispensable tool

A little more than a year later we moved again, and this time — very, very far away. Both our families courageously offered to take Naru and spare her the long journey and spare us all the effort that would go into even making it possible. We appreciated the offer but refused. Leaving Naru behind was not something we would even consider. Besides, honestly speaking, we didn't think that any of our parents would be able to handle her, even though she had changed in a lot of ways. She was more like a dog than a cat and had a million weird antics that we got used to over the years, but it was a long process.

My husband departed first to secure us an apartment and settle other matters; we were to follow in the coming months. I did all the paperwork for Naru. It wasn't that hard considering that we regularly vaccinated her, and she was microchipped at the rescue. There was one long flight, then layover, then another long flight. We'd spend three days in a hotel, then fly again with a short layover, then travel a couple of hours by car.

Our success was solely based on my ignorance, Naru's resilience and dumb luck. I didn't really know how hard it would be to travel for 15 hours straight with a cat dangling in a carrier from my shoulder, and thus I was able to just do it. Naru was the perfect travel companion. She only meowed in a plane when her ears popped, otherwise behaved perfectly; she also didn't pee or poop once during the whole ordeal even though I had everything with me to deal with that. During layovers I would feed her and give her water, and she would be like, "Show me this new shiny airport!", and we would walk around. I considered giving her sedatives but ultimately decided against it. She still had her kidney cysts plus one giant cyst in her liver that we discovered a month before our big journey. Additionally, she developed some gastrointestinal issues, so I avoided giving her unnecessary medication given how unafraid and curious she was about everything. I know some cats panic in unfamiliar environments or during travel and might need some medication, but I swear Naru was living her best life.

We checked into the hotel. Naru darted out from the carrier as if 15 hours of non-stop travel had never happened and started her usual exploration. I felt like I wanted to just lie down and never move ever again.

I brought Naru's litter box and her litter with me, but the hotel also supplied the room with theirs. The litter was a clumping sand-like thingy, and Naru had been using silica gel ever since we adopted her. Naru stuck her paw into the new litter and just fell head over heels. She started digging there, looking at me like, "Do you see this??? You see this litter???" and she'd just keep digging in there for the sake of digging. I set up her litter box, but she didn't go there even once. Her heart belonged to that random hotel litter.

The hotel had strict rules for pets: outside of the room the pet was to be kept in a carrier at all times; pets weren't allowed into the dining area that was just one flight of stairs down from our floor, and the room was to be cleaned every day whether we wanted or not. While it was being cleaned, I was supposed to take Naru elsewhere. I asked if I could sit in the lounge area and just keep her in her carrier, and the answer was yes. Spoiler alert: it didn't work. Naru hated sitting in the carrier doing nothing, so I had to take her for a walk to a nearby park where she had a great time observing birds and dogs.

The next day after we checked in, I woke up to some water noise coming from the bathroom. The ceiling was leaking, and water trickled along the wall and onto the toilet. I went down to the reception and told them that I had a minor flooding. One of the ladies came back to the room with me, confirmed there was indeed a case of flooding and told me to get my things because they'd move us to another room. I was about to start packing but when I left the bathroom, I saw that the lady hadn't closed the door behind her and Naru was nowhere to be seen.

I rushed into the corridor and of course, Naru was strolling along, trying every door with her paw in case it was open and she could explore some more and possibly have a nice conversation. She was already near the stairs. One flight down people were having breakfast. If Naru showed up in the dining room...

If I ran towards her, she'd think that we were playing chase and just run in an unpredictable direction, quite likely ending up on someone's omelet. Then I remembered that Naru was basically a dog, so I called her by name.

She turned.

"Naru, to me," I touched my leg above the knee as I always do when calling her.

And she came. I grabbed her and returned to the room. She was demonstrably unhappy that I ruined her best day for no apparent reason, but this unfortunate situation was soon remedied by us moving to another room. The room was mostly the same, just mirrored and on another floor but Naru was super excited. Crazy cat.

Immediately after I brought her back to the room. Just look at this face lol

In the following days I often went out to explore the city before going on another adventure. Every time I came back Naru always stood on her hind paws, stretching high up to hug me by the neck. In that hotel she discovered an outrageous concept of windows with no windowsills, and it shook her deeply. I put a chair by the window so she could still watch the street.

We finally arrived at our new place, and Naru fell in love with it. We also ditched her old litter and bought the one similar to the hotel's; Naru's happiness skyrocketed. Her asthma subsided and she no longer needs an inhaler. Our new vet absolutely adores her and gives her kisses every time we come. Can you imagine? A random human giving Naru kisses, and her being happy about it. Her last ultrasound showed that the large cyst in her liver shrank considerably.

She looks like we need to book an appointment to talk to her

She'll turn 10 in February, and she is thriving. I'm sharing this story because I start to forget how far we have come. Sometimes, when I pick her up, or rub her belly, or boop her little freckled nose, my husband asks me, "Remember the time when we couldn't do that?" And every time I struggle to remember. We celebrate her adoption anniversary every year but this year it's special. This year, Naru finally has been in our family longer than she was a homeless stray. Now we can say that for MOST of her life, she had a home. Sometimes I think about all those years she spent on the streets. Was she at some point a family cat, then thrown away? Was her mother someone's cat that ended up on the streets? What was Naru like as a little kitten? My heart breaks when I think about this incredible cat living in constant danger before she was rescued. We call pets "home animals" because they are supposed to be in a loving home.

Yes, she is inside my softbox light

We still keep in touch with the rescue we adopted her from. Every year we send them pictures and news. A year after we adopted her, they told me that she terrorized some foster homes and one poor dog sustained psychological trauma from sharing space with her. And yet, she still behaved perfectly well in the café. I think, the rescue was really desperate about Naru's adoption prospects and they fully expected us to give up on her and just return her to them. When I tell them what an amazing family cat Naru has grown to be, senior volunteers who remember her cannot hold back tears. They always believed in her too. My husband and I are forever grateful to them for saving Naru from that construction site and taking care of her. Naru is an absolutely fantastic cat. She still bites, by the way. It's kind of her love language. She learned how to control her biting, and it's enough for me to just tell her to stop if she goes too far. She has a tender loving relationship with my husband. As for her and I, we are more like partners in crime. She's the smartest cat I've ever met.

Happy anniversary, Naru. Now you've been a part of our family longer than you were a stray. You've come a long way and you've done a fantastic job learning how to live with humans. We love you. Here's to many more years together.

Afterword

We have since moved once again, and Naru is doing great here too. She's been enjoying a few new toys recently, especially her little pocket thingy. Just look at these sweet fluffy cheeks!

Thank you very much for your time. This story was important for me to share.

Take care.