This is an autobiographical post. The names of people and places may be changed.
We decided to write autobiographical posts about the colorful life we have lived. There will be tales of sleeping in a campervan on the beach, of defending a bird’s nest from a snake, and of running away from wolves while sick with bronchitis. There will be tales of diagnosis with PTSD and ADHD and how it changed our lives, of meeting biological family, and of job loss. It’s a tale of overcoming challenges, of finding out who we are, of love, hope, cats, and of a marriage that’s gotten stronger through it all.
Autobiography Post 25
We adopted Gamora at the start of 2016. We’d had Danaerys about half a year at that point. She was wild and rambunctious, so we thought it would be best to get another cat for her to play with. Our only stipulation was we wanted the new cat to be between 1-3 years old.
We visited a few shelters before finding our Gamora. A family that had had some internal upheaval needed to get rid of some of their cats. They told us her name was Cleopatra, which is strange because on the official documents her name was written as Esmeralda. And they gave us a purple harness saying she was harness trained. That didn’t seem to be the case, either.
Despite the mysterious origins of Gamora, we fell in love quickly. She was playful, talkative, and a lap cap. She was great at jumping and climbing, which Dany was not.
It took a long time for them to get along. We used several different integration strategies. But ultimately, a move to a new house forced them to share territory. Now, they are good friends.
Gamora the Explorer
Gamora loves the outdoors. We try to take her out on her harness, or without her harness under supervision, whenever possible. She loves to explore and even doesn’t mind the snow for a limited period of time. Dany hates the outdoors, so it’s been something fun and special to do with Gamora by herself.
Gamora the Needy
One of Gamora’s quirks is how needy and clingy she is. She seems to have separation anxiety, even if we are just outside without her. She will climb over everything to get to us. She’s grown quite famous for climbing door screens, meowing as loud as she can in protest at the situation.
Once, when we were integrating the cats, we used a baby-style gate to separate two rooms. Gamora was by herself on one side. She hated that we were not close to her. She climbed up and down the gate, meowing constantly. Finally, she jumped a literal eight-foot vertical jump to bypass the baby gates and land on the nearby couch. We were stunned by her athleticism. And quite vexed that she was an unstoppable cat.
Gamora the Tuna Thief
Once, I believe in 2017, I was preparing dinner for Dorian on his way home. Back then, he worked a later schedule than me, so I would get the meal ready. I was making a tuna and zucchini lasagna. Gamora loved the smell of tuna, so I had to usher her out of the kitchen a few times.
I turned my back on the tuna to start the oven. When I turned back around, Gamora had consumed one of the two cans I had out. I called Dorian.
“Gamora ate the tuna. I only had my back turned for a second!”
He laughed. “I’ll pick up takeout on my way home.”
Gamora the Escape Artist
The most infamous story of Gamora was when we were living in Colorado Springs. We had a three-story townhouse. The bottom floor was partially under the ground, as is the style in that area. Our townhouse had no air conditioning (also typical in that area of older builds) so we slept with the window cracked. The screen was there, so we weren’t worried about anything getting in or out.
At dawn, Gamora climbed off the bed and was smelling the screen. I was still halfway asleep when I heard Dorian shout.
“Gamora got out!”
“What?” I asked, frowning.
“She got outside!”
I twisted around to see she wasn’t by the window anymore. And that the screen had been pushed open. We hadn’t heard anything, meaning the screen had been broken at the edges this whole time and we’d had no idea.
Dorian pulled on his boxers and a shirt and leaped upstairs. I flung open the window and shouted for our cat. I realized then I was topless. Luckily, no one was outside. Quickly closing the curtain again, I yanked on some clothes and gave chase.
I heard Dorian shouting out on the front lawn. “Gamora! Gamora!”
As I raced into the living room, he walked back through the front door with a perplexed Gamora in his arms.
“Thank goodness!” I gasped. “Where was she?”
“Just outside the window.” He was out of breath. “She was just sitting there. I don’t think she knew what to do.”
We’ve always been so relieved that we didn’t lose her that day. Gamora is many things. She’s a talker, always meowing even when she’s in a room by herself. She’s energetic, running and jumping and sometimes tripping us with how excited she is. She is a troublemaker, always wanting to get where she should not and waiting until you turn your back to rebel. She’s also a loving cat, happier sleeping in your lap than doing anything else.
