Skittles’ Lesson

By Evren and Kara Ayik

Evren’s schedule is booked solid with online studies and assignments, so he is taking a break as my co-author for this month. Even though Skittles is officially Evren’s cat, this month he taught me a good lesson, and I wanted to share it.

We had only owned dogs up until a few short years back. In a moment of weakness at PetSmart, I deliberately wandered over to the adopt-a-rescue-cat window, and I saw a cat on sale. Yes, this cat was actually on clearance! I guess he had been around for a while, so the store had reduced his usual adoption fee by a third. Always one for a bargain, I took a closer look at clearance cat and saw that he was striking. His shiny, thick fur was smoke gray and snow white, his peridot eyes were large and round. He sported long, elegant whiskers and a delicately sculpted light pink nose. He had a large, shapely head and a remarkably long neck. This cat was regal! Hmmm. . . whom do I know who needs an adult cat? I asked myself. And instantly a relative (who’d recently divorced) came to mind. Long story short, I arranged a match between my relative and the cat, and we took the clearance cat to the check-out stand for adoption.

The relationship between the adopted cat, Skittles, and my relative lasted for a couple of years, but then a new marriage was announced, and my relative’s significant other declared that the house would be a cat-free zone. So, in the end, Skittles came back to live at our house with the following advisory from his former owner: “No belly rubs, and he doesn’t like cat treats.” Upon his arrival, I quickly learned that Skittles was petrified of our extra-large Golden Retriever, Valentine, nicknamed Tiney. “Skittles is just going to have to adapt,” I told the boys. At bedtime that first night, I picked up Skittles to carry him across the hall and into Evren’s room for the night. Skittles was to be Evren’s very own cat, and Evren’s bedroom would be his safe zone where no dog would threaten his peace. As I gingerly carried Skittles past Tiney, Skittles abruptly came to the mistaken conclusion that I was about to feed him to the dog. Skittles’ ears went back, his body stiffened, he showed his teeth, and then he sank his two little cat fangs deep into my arm, desperately trying save his own life by escaping my hold. It was not the most endearing of moments. But eventually Skittles settled into a sort of uneasy co-existence with Tiney. His anxious ways, rejection of cat treats, and refusal to be cuddled left an impression that he was an unfriendly sort of cat.

Fast forward a year later, I decided Evren needed to raise a kitten that he could actually hold, since Skittles did not tolerate lap-sitting, let alone holding. I learned of a kitten on her way to a rescue whom we adopted and named Pearl. Much to our surprise, Skittles immediately became her most devoted caregiver. He would play gentle kitten games with her, groom her, and he always let her eat first from their shared bowl. He was tolerant when she tried to pounce on him. Much to Skittles’ dismay, Pearl had no qualms about cuddling up with Tiney for some companionship. One evening, Pearl, who enjoyed walking around the edges of the bathtub, fell into a tub full of water. Once I had pulled Pearl out, Skittles sprang into action. He followed two steps behind her for the rest of the night, refusing to let Pearl out his sight for even a second. Seriously? Can’t you people manage to take care of a kitten? he seemed to be asking, shaking his head and questioning our competency as kitten parents.

But in fact, Skittles did have his own way of showing affection. He head-butted our arms when we sat quietly on the couch. We learned that head butts are actually a cat’s way of expressing love for his or her owner, kind of like hugs. At bedtime he slept curled up near Evren and stayed all night until Evren arose from bed each morning. And after all, no one could deny that he was endlessly patient with the mischievous Pearl. Only love could let him do all that.

Just a few days ago Skittles woke me up late in the night, meowing incessantly with his odd little meow that had no “e” sound in it until I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. I dragged myself out of bed to open the patio door and let him in. I flipped on the porch light, and what did I see before my very eyes? A dead brown and white roof rat at Skittles’ feet. He brought it right up against the sliding door track. Skittles looked at it, then looked at me proudly and magnanimously. Skittles had presented me with a gift, and he was so very proud of himself. Although I felt like a killjoy, I didn’t let him bring it in.

As I thought about Skittles the next day, a thought came to me. Skittles must have the biggest heart of any cat I have ever met in my life. We collectively had branded this cat as aloof and grumpy, but all the evidence pointed towards a cat who is exceptionally loving, just in his own way. As I pondered this epiphany, I found myself wondering, how often have I labeled other human beings in the same way I labeled Skittles? When people didn’t show the behaviors I wanted them to in the time I expected them to, did I label them in some rejecting way? I hope I can retain this lesson that Skittles may have just been sent to teach me.