Sam's Club

When I was living alone in North Carolina, I wasn’t in the best state of mind. I felt my life was directionless, stagnating, and lacking any real purpose. At only 24 years old I felt like an old dog, gray around the face with a paleness in his eyes, content with what he’s done, and patiently waiting for the end. This sparked an idea: I need to adopt an old dog. We’re the same. I can hang out and drink beer and he will just sit beside me, content with our low-energy, low-stress lifestyle.

Part of me selfishly wanted to be perceived as a good person. “Aww, you adopted an old dog, how sweet.” I browsed local shelters but did not see any dogs matching the idealized version in my head. I looked at an old chihuahua and pitied him. But to me, he reflected my worst qualities: anxious, melodramatic, volatile, and ready to snap at those who love him. I wanted a stoic old mutt, a blue-collar dog, wise beyond his years, but without any drive to go on.

As I continued my search for an old companion, something caught my eye – a picture of a big-eyed, bunny-eared orange cat named Sam. Sam was listed as 13 years old but looked like a little baby, earning him one of his many monikers to come, “baby cat.” As soon as I saw his picture I knew I wanted him. I reached out to the humane society, and they scheduled a meet and greet for the Sams. At our meeting he was brought out in a bright pink flowery carrying case, clearly comfortable with his masculinity. Sam was very shy when I first met him. He did not want to even leave the carrier despite the nice woman goading him to come out. I didn’t care. She asked me if I wanted him and I said yes. I took Sam home in his pink carrier and we spent our first night together.

For the first two days I hardly saw Sam at all. I set up a litter box, water fountain, dry food, and a little bed for him, but he mostly hid in my closet and under my bed. I noticed that some of the food was gone and saw that he’d used the litter box, so I wasn’t too worried. I carried on with a little more self-destruction and a little more stagnating, sometimes forgetting I even had a cat (but never forgetting to feed him.) Two days later I came home from a hard day of pretending to work and found Sam casually sitting on my bed, looking up at me with those big green eyes. From that moment on, until he took his last breath in my arms, we were best friends.

Taking care of something other than yourself helps to put things in perspective. Now I had a little creature relying on me to stay alive.  Things slowly got better. Eventually, I packed up my bags and moved back home to Tallahassee.

I got three more years with Sam and they were wonderful. He was always by my side. Every time that I got into bed to call it a night he would immediately follow suit and jump right up there with me. He never did use that old cat bed. Maybe years down the road I will get another cat, who knows. But for now, I have no desire. There isn’t some hole left in my heart or void that needs to be filled. I’m just grateful for the time we got to spend together. As cliche, saccharine, and dramatic as it may sound, I truthfully believe that this animal saved my life, and writing this is my way of expressing gratitude to him. I’m the conduit through which Sam can say to the world, “I am, I was!” Sam will be loved and talked about for many years to come. Those are his extra lives. I’ll never forget my friend Sam.