Arthur
2026-06-27
Yesterday afternoon, I ended up picking up that cat, and it has been a nerve-wracking experience for him and me both. He's a six-year-old domestic shorthair named Arthur, and he is a nice little fella. Of course, rehoming can be a difficult experience for a cat and its new family, and I've been nervous in my efforts to make him feel at home. We have a small computer room in the house that doesn't get too much activity, and I decided that would be the best place for him to grow more comfortable. We're trying not to force any interaction, and he has taken a hiding spot behind the bookshelf. Since coming home yesterday, he has been there behind that bookshelf most of the time. I left out his things: food and water, a litter box, a scratcher, and a bed—and at this point it's just a matter of time until he becomes more comfortable moving around at least the computer room. He hasn't had any food or water yet, and that makes me rather nervous; but everyone gets hungry eventually, so we'll see how it turns out.
It's been an adjustment for me more than anything. I want to do everything I can to help him feel safe and comfortable, and even though cats are generally low-maintenance, I have never owned one before, so there's going to be a lot to learn about taking care of him. Honestly, I am not very good with animals; when it comes to doing things that are medically necessary for them, I have a tough time. Animals are usually more scared of the treatment than I am, but I'm pretty up there with them. Animals are very perceptive of the energy you project around them; many of them pick up on my nervousness and respond in kind, which can sometimes lead to aggression or a general corruption of the vibe. I think a lot of people who love animals love them because they can't talk, but that's exactly what makes me uncomfortable. The fact that they can't tell me what's wrong is deeply concerning to me.
The anxiety surrounding this situation is a good thing, though. It means that I care about giving Arthur a good home, and while I am sure to make mistakes, the fact that I care is what matters most. I simply won't forget about him. There's no need to worry about forgetting to feed him or not noticing a medical problem. Of course, I'd be worried if he continues not to eat or drink, or if he pukes or has diarrhea—but thankfully I don't have to cross that bridge just yet. I don't want to keep circling the same anxious feelings surrounding this adjustment period, but what I've noticed is that it has made me less inclined to pursue other activities. I'm almost too scared to leave the house just in case something horrible happens, even though the chances of that are slim. Still, there's no need to worry, and if I can carry on and resume life as normal, that should help Arthur adjust to living here a bit more.
The last thing I'd want to do is to be overbearing and force too much interaction. I don't want to go into the computer room every hour to check on him, just to see that he's still hiding behind that damn bookshelf. Of course, he needs to come to us when he's ready, and I just need to check in with myself to make sure I'm not being so short-sighted and impulsive. I scheduled a veterinary appointment before I even got him, and now I'm realizing I jumped the gun on that. He needs to adjust to being here first, and especially considering he has no veterinary history, I don't want to double-dose him on trauma so quickly—poor little guy. We need to get him vaccinated and neutered, and I know that's a bridge we can cross eventually, but not right away. The little fella needs to get on his own four legs around the house first.
I just hope I don't fuck this up. I hope I didn't make the wrong decision in taking on the care of this little guy. The previous owner couldn't take care of him anymore, and I want to help him continue to have a good life, adjustments and all. More than that, I really hope we bond and he takes to me as a friend. Even if he can't talk back, I know he has a lot to share.
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