Three and a half years ago, I moved to Norfolk from across the country to start a new life.

Living alone for the first time was a thrilling perspective for me, but it didn’t take long for the loneliness to creep in and for my small apartment to feel that much smaller. I needed companionship to stay sane, but I hadn’t made friends yet and dating, well, let’s not get into that.

After my first couple of weeks alone I found myself saying things out loud to nobody a little too often, I knew it was time for a new addition to my family of one.

Frances & Howdy

My lifestyle was not suited for a dog, so I decided to begin the journey of adopting a local, homeless cat. I knew that having the presence of a living, feeling being with me every day would be just the friendly energy I needed to start my new life off properly.

I did a bit of research into the animal adoption community in Hampton Roads, and wanted to make sure I did not support a no-kill shelter. “Say what?!” you make ask yourself. “I thought she said she loved animals.” Many people are quick to assume that a no-kill shelter is the best, most humane animal adoption institution to support, but people are also quick to forget that no-kill means that the shelter will inevitably fill up, meaning they must turn away needy animals to fend for themselves on the street or in the arms of a neglectful owner.

“No kill” also means that the animals within the shelter have diminished quality of lives as there are too many animals and not enough space, causing cages to be stacked sky high.

The animal overpopulation crisis in our country is sickening, and sometimes euthanasia is the only, sad, humane reality. Every year in the U.S., 6 to 8 million lost, abandoned or unwanted dogs and cats enter animal shelters, and about 4 million of them do not get adopted and are left with nowhere to go. It’s impossible to expect shelters to have enough room to humanely care  for these 4 million animals until their natural deaths. They would be forced to live in cramped cages for years; isolated, neglected, and stressed. Under these conditions, many animals go insane from loneliness and confinement.

Thankfully, when done properly by an injection of sodium pentobarbital, euthanasia is a quick, completely painless, and peaceful release. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, The American Veterinary Medical Association and the Humane Society of the United States agree that an intravenous injection of sodium pentobarbital administered by a trained professional is the kindest, most compassionate method of euthanizing animals. Until dog and cat overpopulation is brought under control through spaying and neutering, we must prevent the suffering of unwanted animals in the most responsible and humane way possible.

When puppy mills are breeding dogs for a quick buck, guardians are refusing to spay or neuter their animals, and breeders are selling purebred litters for thousands of dollars, it makes the reality of euthanasia all the more harsh as it is a completely preventable practice. With this passion on the forefront of my search, I soon found the clean, respectable, and compassionate Virginia Beach SPCA, and drove there one Saturday morning on a mission to find my new companions.

Love.

After discussing my thoughts and lifestyle with a shelter employee, I was introduced to a sickly 8-year-old tortoiseshell cat with big sad eyes and her daughter, who was a skinny, skittish calico with no fur on her legs (she frequently pulled it out during anxiety attacks).

My heart broke for these gentle, beautiful cats, and something behind their scared, green eyes told me that I had to bring them home to protect and love them for the rest of their lives. Both cats were missing hair on their scabby necks from flea bites, and the tortoiseshell could barely even muster a meow in her defeated state.

The shelter employee explained to me that they had come in together, along with six other cats, after being discovered in the house of a severely neglectful hoarder who had died of old age. Nobody had known how long the cats had been left in the house after the woman passed away, but after her body was discovered, the cats were turned over to the animal shelter, where they were spayed, given medical attention, and put up for adoption.

The other six cats had all been adopted one-by-one over the last six months, but the shelter employees felt that they couldn’t separate these two because the daughter was far too anxious to leave her mother’s side.

I took the cats home that day, naming the sweet tortoiseshell Frances and the finicky calico Howdy. The first night in their new home was difficult for Howdy. She instantly ran under the bed, wide eyed and frightened, and refused to eat or drink. She continued pulling the fur off of her mostly bald legs in anxiety attacks; she was clueless of what a tender hand and loving pat would even feel like.

Fran, on the other hand, was much more adventurous, and quickly began trotting around the apartment, smelling every single item in each room and seeing which cushions were the most comfortable. She warmed up to her new digs instantly and would visit Howdy under the bed often, bathing her and comforting her, as if to coax her to come out and explore.

After a couple of days, Howdy poked her soft nose out from under the bed and began cautiously taking in her surroundings. It’s hard to remember her in that state, as it’s completely opposite of her behavior now. Currently, she races around the apartment, flinging toy mice towards the ceiling and batting plastic jingle balls from room to room. She is loud, funny, curious, and full of life, and thankfully has stopped with her anxiety attacks for good (the fur on her legs has grown back completely).

AltDaily's shelter kitty, Francois-Luc.

As much as I loved living alone, whenever I’d fall ill, the loneliness would set in. But once Howdy and Fran came into my life, I never had to feel alone again. The first time I got the stomach flu in Norfolk, I spent 24 hours lying on the bathroom floor, and both cats laid near me the whole time, refusing to leave me alone. When I was feeling particularly helpless or made any sound, Howdy would lick me and Fran would nudge my legs. The solidarity was palpable, and having that unconditional, non-judgmental love in my life was both powerful and healing. I’ve had several surgeries during my time in Norfolk, and during the recovery of each operation, the cats never left my side and spent their days adoring me and making me smile. The companionship and comfort that they brought me during my darkest hours was immeasurably valuable to my mental state, which no doubt helped speed up my physical recovery as well.

During a routine vet visit, it was discovered that Fran had severe hyperthyroidism. The thought of losing her was devastating, so I told myself that if there was a possibility of her becoming healthy again, I would do whatever it took. When I adopted those cats, I made a commitment. It wasn’t “they can live with me until XYZ changes,” it was a choice I made to protect and love them for the rest of their lives, knowing full well that it could be many years, and at some point, could cost a big sum of money. If I wasn’t prepared for that, it would have been nothing short of selfish to have adopted them in the first place. After working with the vet, Fran was sent to get a week’s worth of radiation therapy at a specialist’s office in Chesapeake, and when she returned, she was completely cured and healthier than ever.

My life has been significantly enriched by these two beautiful cats. Knowing that I was able to rescue them from such hell has truly bonded us in an unimaginable way, and I’m thankful every day that the three of us found each other that quiet Saturday morning.

To find your local SPCA, click here.