Through Sven's Eyes

Through Sven’s Eyes

By: Isabela Mata

I should probably start my story by saying that I’ve never been too good at listening. Or rather, that I choose when to listen and when I’d prefer to do my own thing, ignoring every word, every plea from my human family. (They earned the upgrade from owners to human family long ago.)

You see, I’m a being… a most powerful, influential, intelligent, almost perfect creature. I’m talented beyond measure, persuasive, good-looking, a force to be reckoned with, truly. I’m as fit as can be for my age—still able to efficiently leap and climb to impressive heights, such as the big, cold box deemed a refrigerator. I have personality and am brave, adventure-seeking, and able to adapt to new surroundings and even stressful situations quite well. I really am the definition of what my human sisters would describe as “awesome”.

But I’m talking myself up now. And while I do take immense pride in my many, flattering traits, I promise that I’m also humble. I’m loving, caring, sensitive, the first to sense when something is wrong with one of my family members, and the first to offer cuddles when they feel down. Yes, I’m many things… but the main thing I am is a pet, and that makes me a superhero in my own right.

If by now you’ve guessed that I’m a cat, you’re correct! I am a handsome, golden, almost majestic feline—swift in movement, and strong in physique and character. It’s true that I’ve known days when I was slimmer, and my current little tummy pouch can prove that. I’ve also known younger days, as is proven by my droopy whiskers and recent loss of a fang. I even have a slight bend in my tail that was an unfortunate result of the time that I got my hind paws stuck on the oven handle when I jumped from the counter in an attempt to flee my human Mom. She still insists that it’s improper for me to be on the counter, but I completely disagree.

I merely take pleasure in overlooking my human subjects from the counter, basking in my true glory as I perch at a superior level to them while they sit and laze in front of their huge screen toy— a box that displays moving pictures and is apparently called a TV. Sometimes I enjoy watching the pictures move, especially when Supergirl is on. (She’s probably the prettiest human I’ve ever seen!) However, I do enjoy watching other things, including anything with animals, a handful of Disney films, and select action movies. Thanks to my sisters, I can even say that I’m a fan of projects such as Gilmore Girls and Jane the Virgin.

As you can see, I’m not a typical cat. No cat truly is just “typical”. We’re often hidden behind stereotypes: we mainly sleep, eat, cause trouble, and repeat. But I tell you, I’m a cat of many hobbies and great depth! I do enjoy sleeping, whether it be a nap at the living room window or an overnight sleepover in my human sisters’ rooms. And yes, I admit that I absolutely love enjoying lavish, gourmet meals created just for felines with palates as rich and refined as mine. Yes, I can even confirm that I also love making all sorts of mischief, which usually results in: “No, Sven! Behave!”

My “meow” response to them usually translates to the same thing: “You knew what you were signing up for when you brought a cat home!” When will they learn, right?

Anyway, another big hobby of mine is making proper biscuits, kneading endlessly on a blanket during TV time. And let’s just say that if I were making real, tangible biscuits, I’d probably produce at least two to three dozen, easily! I also love tissue paper, gift bags, and boxes, as well as making my family search for me during a game of Hide and Seek. But perhaps what I truly enjoy most… is spending time with my family. I admit, I am one tough cat, but I’m also a huge softie to the core. I’ve embarked on countless adventures, my yellow eyes taking in all the little details and revisiting them in my dreams, but every one of my adventures has been with my family.

***

I was a mere four months old when I got kidnapped in Brownsville, Texas. As if that wasn’t unfortunate enough, I was kidnapped with my two siblings. None of us ever saw our poor Mom again. I still feel a little bad when I do think about our Mom. I wonder how she felt when she returned to our empty little hideout after searching for food and didn’t see any signs of us anymore, the panic that must’ve set in at the time. I try my best to avoid thinking about her though; I don’t like the guilt that resurfaces when she does flash into my little two-inch brain. I can imagine—or perhaps I try to comfort myself with the thought— that my Mom must’ve moved on one day, had another litter of kittens, and most likely became a “helicopter parent.” Or maybe she ended up being lucky and not having to constantly hover over my new, possible half-siblings if they were more responsible than me. I just hope that she’s safe and happy. I appreciate that she gave me my start to this great adventure we call life.

I had persuaded my younger brother and sister into accompanying me to this little sandwich shop. It was a fairly long walk from our original home, and my siblings got distracted by all sorts of things, from butterflies to the cars that were racing when big, overhead lights turned from red to green. But I had already become accustomed to the “city life” and knew exactly how to get to the heavenly place called Subway with minimal distractions.

When we arrived, we were greeted by the same woman who used to give me the leftover chicken. Except when she saw that I brought company, she figured she was doing the right thing by taking us to the local animal shelter so that we could find “the homes we deserved.”

My sister cried the whole time, and my brother felt sick. Even I didn’t feel too good anymore when some kind souls put us in cages for our “protection”. My only consolation was that we had nice, tasty kibble—though it didn’t taste nearly as delicious as Subway.

We settled in, missed our Mom, and then continued to grow together. But over time, we got separated, or “adopted”. My sister, who was named Felicia, was the first to go. The next to leave was my brother, eventually deemed as Tony. He looked just like me, but was calmer. And then there was me, with only a few other cage companions I hadn’t quite met yet. Once I hit five months, I was relocated to Petco in a completely different city. And that’s where I found MY forever home.

I still remember it so clearly. I first met my youngest sister, nine at the time, and my human Mom. They came back later that day with my other two sisters, twelve and fourteen, and my human Dad. Our bond was instant, and I went home with them that same day. My Mom held me as I shook with uncertainty the whole way home, but once I was released onto the carpeted floor of my new home, I experienced freedom like never before!

I regret to inform you that my first day home also became the day my family realized they could never again have a Christmas tree. (I’m twelve now, so they made a great sacrifice.)

After being in a cage for so long, I experienced zoomies, or “episodes”, galloping like a horse from one end of our home to the other. After about a dozen laps, I was overcome with this extra rush of energy to leap onto the Christmas tree itself! After a brief moment, I rushed back down, taking a few ornaments with me and knocking over this little stable set with figurines. I completed this Olympic sport several times when I specifically remember my Dad asking if I would always behave like that. I had spooked him badly and easily.

The next morning, my family awoke to find the carnage I had committed as they slept. I had devoured most of the hay from the stable set— they only knew because they later caught me in the act— and broken off two of the crowned figurines from the set’s base. I pawed the figures back and forth, sliding them across the room until they were taken from me by my Mom. But the biggest horror was… the Christmas tree, completely toppled over, ornaments adorning the blue carpet, the lights only half-working, and the icicles appearing to have exploded all over the living room. While at first they all gasped as their jaws literally dropped, their mouths eventually formed smiles, and they broke out into a roar of laughter. It was then that I realized my energy and humor were appreciated, and that I had chosen the perfect family for me.

My family and I created so many great memories in that first house. Over the years we lived there, my sisters and I finished growing up together. I used to steal my youngest sister’s toys from her, hiding under one of the couches, crouching, waiting for her to turn away to strike with my paws. I’d collect numerous treasures, from baby bottles to small plush animals. I was always forced to return them.

Each of my sisters had wild imaginations and claimed that I had a secret life apart from them. I honestly can’t say how they came up with their extravagant stories, but apparently I boasted high success as an astronaut with the most elaborate rocket, an actor who starred in superhero shows, a singer with a million #1 hits, and then a deli owner who eventually also opened up a pizzeria. Again, I know not how they came up with these ideas, but I enjoyed listening to them.

As time passed, we grew and matured even more. Playing board games turned into reading murder mystery novels, and Barbie weddings turned into action figures and collectibles. (I still find it hard to believe that the poor same Ken Doll could be married to EVERY Barbie, until my sisters invested in more Kens.) As for me, I went from spinning on the carpet to sunbathing and watching Live TV (the outdoor world) from behind the living room window that served as my theater.

That was the same house where I almost passed away the first time. I was perched at an open window, only the screen separating me from the outdoor world. One of my sisters was near me when I suddenly moved a certain way and fell through it. In a panic, I did my best to claw into the wood of the house, my heart practically leaping out of my chest, when my sister came to my rescue and pulled me back into our home. And I can’t help but think now that the way she saved me that day is the way I wish I’d been able to save my sisters from falling for the wrong guys later on.

For every wrong guy, I’d give them a cuddle and a look meant to say: “It’s okay. You were too good for him anyway.”

If I could go back, I’d change all the struggles, the heartbreaks, the break-ups, the crying. And yet, I know those harsh realities of life strengthened our bond and helped us grow. (Two of them are with pretty good guys now, but they’ll always be MY sisters first and foremost. And my other sister is her own queen and king, with me being the only guy in her life. I love it!)

Unfortunately, it was that same house where I almost passed away the second time. I’d gotten extremely sick with what seemed to be a stomach bug at around the same time I had my first vet visit. They found nothing wrong at the time, so we went home. However, after another day of being horribly ill and becoming gravely dehydrated, we knew something far more serious was wrong.

I remember feeling so horrible, so weak, the morning of my Mom’s birthday that I didn’t go to greet my parents at their bedroom door when they woke up. Instead, I laid under the table, unable to move, preparing to accept that my life with my family would possibly be cut very short. I’d been in so much pain that I was sure I had no fight left in me… until I saw my family’s grief. I looked my Mom in the eyes and knew I couldn’t abandon them, not on her birthday. I chose to fight. I knew they needed me, so I endured another vet visit. And to everyone’s relief, I slowly began to recover. Within about a month, I was back to normal. And I’m grateful for pulling through for my family, but also because I met Orea.

Orea was an outdoor cat, a gorgeous mix of black and white, named after Oreos. She was kind, gentle with my family, but also smart and athletic, a protector. She was fire! Her big yellow eyes had a sweetness, a softness in them that made you feel warm, safe, loved. She was good; she was loyal. And I fell in love. She’d keep me company at night while everyone rested, the silence of the night connecting us as much as the sun’s rays did during the day, when I’d spend hours watching her from the window. We had a connection I’ve never known with another cat, and that’s why it hurt so much when we had to move away. Nothing could ever truly express what I felt for her, how much I missed her, how badly I wished we’d taken her with us. No cat has ever replaced her.

I don’t have much to say about the next house, except that I didn’t like it. Whenever my family opened the door, I’d attempt to flee to return for Orea. I always had plans on making it back to her. Unfortunately, I remain unsuccessful in that valiant mission, but I do believe there is a place of rest, an afterlife, where I’ll see her again one day and be able to admire her beauty and love her kind yet fiery nature forevermore.

It was also that second house where I saw my family endure many financial struggles. I felt a bit powerless, seeing them worry so much, but I’d console them by extending a warm paw to them, wrapping my little arm around their wrists, or by simply gazing at them lovingly to remind them of how much I loved them and how proud of them I still felt.

I remember my adventure at my paternal Grandparents’ house. My Grandma doesn’t like pets much, but she agreed to let me stay in the garage to avoid our landlord—who didn’t allow pets. Plenty happened, including me trapping myself behind some wooden boards and scaring my youngest sister to tears. But what I remember most about the visit was when my Grandpa sat on the floor with my sisters to help them build my new cat carrier for our trip to our local beach.

They had so much fun, laughed a lot, and had to take it apart and rebuild it because my oldest sister had missed a whole step. That was before Grandpa’s Parkinson’s disease worsened. He was still mobile, still lively. My Dad has since become his caregiver, and he’s great at his job. Because of him, we still have Grandpa, and though life gets more challenging for him every day, my Dad gives him the care and motivation to keep going. But I see how it challenges Dad too. It weighs down on him at times, but he also marches on.

We have since moved from that second house. We live in a luxury apartment now and are set to inherit our Grandparents’ house one day. I’ve made and said goodbye to many outdoor friends here. Live TV has changed drastically. I currently have a feline niece and a feline nephew outdoors, and I got to see our neighborhood Husky and his mate, Brownie, find their forever homes. And I suppose that’s just the thing about life: it constantly changes.

It's important to note that pets experience everything with their families. I love my family, live with them. I see their struggles, recognize their efforts, experience their joy, and feel their pain. I’ve lived through life, love, and loss with them. I’m here for the change, for the victories and laughs. I’m here to give them my love and companionship through the good and the bad. I’m even here for the frustrations and the questioning, the lows and the fears. No matter what they go through, you’ll find me here.

Experiencing life with my family is what makes my life meaningful. I hope they see the love, the light, and the gratefulness behind my eyes each morning I greet them at their doors with a meow and a shake of my happy tail. They’ve given me a chance at a good life, given me adventures and the world. For that, I will love them deeply, unconditionally, until I cross the rainbow bridge. And looking back at when I almost passed away that day in May, I’d do it all over again, relive the pain and fight… for them, just to see them smile and feel at peace. But until that day comes, when I must go on before them, I’ll help carry the weight of the world for them… because that’s what pets do.