When I divorced my wife I was sure to adopt a cat. I simply wanted to have some company in my house at least until I'd find myself a new partner. I took all preparations, like a litterbox, food plates etc. etc. When I had everything at the ready I began to look at a site called "ik zoek baas" (I'm looking for an owner). where cats and dogs in a shelter are shown so I can make my pick.

And very soon as I saw this picture:

This picture was on that website for a cat, by the shelter named "Oelewappertje". "Oelewappertje" is a demunitive for "Oelewapper" and in Dutch it's a rather popular word for somebody who is rather clumsy and not very bright. It's overall never used in an insulting way, but rather in an affectionate way.

And I couldn't resist, I immediately grabbed my telephone and called the number which was written in the description, which mentioned that she was very approachable and loads of things. I immediately paid her a visit. It was not an easy visit. She was surrounded by her brothers and sisters, and she appeared to be the lowest ranked in the hierarchy, as her brothers and sisters wanted my attention and tried to scare her away, but eventually the woman in charge could get her apart. It was decided she would be my cat. Well with me being an "oelewapper" a few things went wrong, with some documents, but all's well that ends well, Oelewappertje was put in the transport box and I said goodbye to the family who cared for her, and so I went back on the train home.

Of course, underway some idiots pointing out that I was going the "wrong way" as the Chinese restaurant was the other way (do they really think they were funny?), only to miss the train on my arrival. Station not very busy, so I had to waste an hour before the next train came. However that track was full of intercities skipping that station, and not to mention cargo trains, and that was not a very nice experience for her. The travel itself she was pretty quiet. Of course when I left the train in Breda Central Station (which for some reason my not be called "Central Station" by the NS and Pro-Rail and yet everyone does even leading to confusion by those who are not aware of that silly thing) and some idiot who was not really willing to watch out bumped my arm holding the cage and I was afraid I'd almost lost the cage and if a kitten would get loose on a big station, no way you'd get her back. Well, I could hold it, cage remained closed, and a few curses later I could leave the station, on my way home.

Now I live on the 4th floor (5th in U.S. counting) and I don't have an elevator (that's building in the 1960s for ya. It was only in the 1970s the Netherlands accepted a law making an elevator mandatory with 4 floors (ground floor not counted) or more), and when I made sure my front door was closed I renamed her "Kitty" and set her free. She immediately hid behind a closet, but I knew that was only natural for a cat to do, so I let her be. After a few hours she finally dared to come out. It was a bit of an awkward journey to get to know each other.

Let's say this, as a human you need to learn how to treat cats, but cats in turn need to learn how to treat humans. Twice she made the mistake to poke my eyes, and she really had a hard time finding out my private zone is kinda fragile (don't laugh, that was painful).

She learned quickly, though. However, the best (and worst) opportunity arose when I couldn't sleep due to unbearable pain in my belly. I could see it then... She was worried about me. I could see her in the way she looked at me. When I was diagnosed with gallstones and came to know my gallbladder had to be removed, she found out that I was living in fear and she came to my support. It was then that I saw very clearly she loved me, and maybe this was also the first time she realized it herself. Cats CAN think, you know, they only don't think in words.

When the day came that I went to the hospital to undergo the surgery she looked at me, like she was never gonna see me again. A woman who knew her well and took care for her while I was gone, already told me she was completely confused and really feeling awkward. I also wonder though, the time that woman was in my house, was exactly the same moment that the anesthetist put the cap on my face that would put me to sleep. Did she feel that?

And when I came home the next day, just when I turned the key and entered the house she was there, completely beyond herself in happiness meowing out loud to me. I couldn't bow to pat her (not recommended when you still have surgery wounds in your belly), so I went to my dining table and gave her attention. I knew on that moment that a bond between me and my cat had really formed.

And (I wrote this during the corona lockdown, and scheduled this, as I do with loads of articles I write here, so no idea how the situation is when this is finally revealed to the audience) now that I cannot leave my house, trying to get things on the move for myself by working on Dyrt (the .NET version) she is a lot of support to me. With a lot of people beyond hysteria it's nice to have at least someone who appears still sane and who has no idea what is going on. She even sits on my lap while I'm writing code. She comes to me when I'm lying in bed. And all she asks back from me is some attention and food.

Around August or September she'll turn 2 years old, and I've enjoyed most of that. She knows quite well what I allow to do and what I do not allow. She can quite often look at me, looking for a kind of confirmation.

Don't be fooled by the idea that cats are anti-social beings, since they are less dependent on their owners than dogs. Cats can be very social and loving to their owners. I am more to her than just her "personal can opener". And most importantly, she doesn't judge me for what I am, which makes her wiser than most humans I've met.

So Kitty, this praise is for you! For being a loyal friend who's been a great support already in the two years of my life I've shared with you. You gave me all I wanted from a cat... and more....