Sweet William
It was January 2020,
…before the word pandemic hit our vocabulary like a tsunami of fear. I was fostering a cat for the Oregon Humane Society. William was a long-term foster since he had multiple issues that needed to be resolved before he would be a candidate for adoption. Trouble was, I had a Mexico vacation scheduled right in the middle of his stay.
William was a shy, four-year-old tabby with a fractured jaw. Naturally friendly and loving, his shyness began to lessen as he got to know he was safe. Then disaster happened!
William had free rein of the foster room and could go in and out of his kennel where his bed and food was whenever he pleased. Unfortunately, he was more curious than I had bargained for, and one day he climbed on top of the kennel. He must have slipped and tumbled off. I was there in a flash, but it was too late. His mouth began to bleed again, and he was right back in the throes of his PTSD.
I took him to be checked out, and thankfully he hadn’t injured himself, but he was slow to regain his confidence. His emotions were conflicted. He’d ask to be petted, but when the hand approached, he would turn tail and hide.
I didn’t press him, and in a few days he began to improve. Then it was time for my trip and the rest was fate.
I’d worked it out with the OHS foster department that my well-qualified cat sitter Jenn would also take care of William in my absence. Little did I know it was all part of a magical set of circumstances that would lead to a perfect, loving forever life for William.
One day while I was away, Jenn invited our friend Joan over to the house. I don’t remember the reason—I may never have known it. But that was when Joan met William, a cat she hadn’t anticipated but couldn’t forget.
It doesn’t always happen, but anyone who has had cats knows that every so often, one comes along who calls to you, a call you have no choice but to answer. So it was with Joan and William. As soon as he became available for adoption, she was there to take him home. That was five and half years ago.
It wasn’t all smooth sailing for Joan and Sweet William, as she now called him. He had unforeseen health problems as well as suffering with PTSD from the trauma of his broken jaw. I knew there were issues, but I had no idea their story was so complex until I read her recent essay, proving once again that relationships, like living beings, are a growing and changing entity, and that it is never too late to find solace with the help of a safe and loving home.
WILLIAM’S STORY, by Joan
I have known that William was meant to be my cat since I first saw him in January 2020 when I wasn’t looking for another cat and was actually rather disconcerted to realize that I had to figure out a way to adopt him, because he was so clearly mine.
I have never regretted that decision, but it has always been the case that there was an emotional wall within him. I couldn’t go deep with him; I knew he liked me, but there was a blank space inside. The wonderful animal communicator Thea Strom said the same thing, without my having told her I sensed this…that he was highly compartmentalized in a way that made him emotionally inaccessible.
That was okay with me. I loved him anyway, and he was clearly bonded with (my other cat) Minx, who gave him the depth he needed, in a way that felt safe. But I always wondered if he would ever be capable of more.
This has changed since Minx’s death. The blankness has vanished almost entirely… he is much more present with me and has transferred that deeper trust to me. I had thought he would shift his emotional intimacy to Bbcatkin, so I am surprised.
All of which is to say…change is possible for trauma survivors. It can take a long time, but it’s always possible, with patience, consistency, and proof of safety.
(WILLIAM’S STORY, by Joan is reprinted with her permission)
William with blep
Joan and Sweet William’s story is important for both humans and cats, plus any other living beings who think and feel. But maybe cats teach us to quit trying to go back to a time before the trauma and push forward to a new, trusting reality. We have grown. We may never feel completely safe in dark alleys, busy intersections, or at the sound of loud bangs, but we can feel safe somewhere. For many of us, that is big.
Every evening, Joan closes off the day with a Facebook post, Goodnight from Sweet William. The photos I have included are from those posts.
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