Purrfect Match

Written by Julia Bourque

Photographed by Ella Mordarski

I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, head resting on my knees, wondering why the LSAT was so hard for me. After a day of not being able to focus and missing “easy” practice questions because my mind convinced myself that this bad day would result in nothing more than failure: no law school, no prospects, and isolation.

If you were to take a look inside my brain you would see a cluttered mess, desperately trying to look neat. A pile that looks like my junk drawer sitting in the corner, staring at you, masquerading as organization. I couldn’t sit down and enjoy the quiet. My mind was a petri dish with the perfect environment for my negative thoughts to flourish.

I have always thought there was something wrong with me. Relaxing should be innate, yet, for a long time, I never allowed myself to take time to do nothing. I needed to plan every second of my day or else I was somehow failing myself. I loved the rush I got from never sitting still though; it gave me productive days. It’s the same kind of rush I get after reading a satisfying ending to a novel or getting the perfect ratio of milk-to-espresso in my latte. This cycle was not sustainable, though: the days that I didn’t consider “productive” were tarnished by my inability to prevent my anxious thoughts from spiraling.

Night after night I’d find myself on the bathroom floor convinced I never did enough during the day. I always could’ve done more practice tests, edited my personal statements more meticulously, or watched more LSAT YouTube explanations. And I was on that floor alone after pushing anyone who tried to encourage me away because, in my mind, they could never understand how much of a disappointment I really was.

But one night while stuck in my own head and on the cold tile, I thought of someone who wouldn’t try to cheer me up and remind me I was down in their efforts. Someone who didn’t know what the LSAT was, or what a pencil was for that matter. I opened my local animal shelter’s website and scrolled through the cats looking for a home. I sent in an application on a whim, and by the next day I was welcomed to come visit.

I arrived at the shelter a few weeks later with the mindset that the perfect cat would choose me.

On the train ride to the shelter I had so much adrenaline that I probably could’ve pushed the train there myself.

I met my cat Marla there. She was peacefully asleep in a cupboard and purred the whole visit. All the nerves from the train eased and I was present with her. I took her home and set her up in my bathroom as she adjusted. The entire afternoon got away from me, and before I knew it, it was past 9:00 p.m; I could not believe I spent hours quietly sitting on the bathroom floor with her.

It took three weeks of wet treats and patience for her to fully warm up to me. She was so skittish it forced me to slow down around her. When sitting next to her, I wanted to exude calmness and peace, and I kept this with me even as she ventured around the rest of my apartment. I gave up a lot of control in this process. I did not see it at the time, but she taught me how to rest. The first time she felt brave enough to cuddle on the couch with me, I could feel a weight being lifted off my shoulders. The rest of the noise stopped.

I thought I would be stuck in that cycle of constant motion forever. I thought maybe it was genetic or something in my brain that made me unchangeable. But that wasn’t true. I needed Marla. She showed me how to take a break, sit in the sun, and enjoy the quiet. It definitely helps that she is a lap cat who loves attention, but we have formed a symbiotic relationship. She needs a warm lap and chin scratches, and I need her.

I am so grateful for the night that led me to give up control and adopt her. And now, if you were to look in my brain, you would see me and Marla peacefully asleep in the sun or playing with her favorite feather.