We said goodbye to our handsome Harry cat on Thursday, October 15, around noon. He was only 8-years-old and was suffering from stomach cancer. To honor him, I’m reprinting the story, “Black Cats Do Get Adopted” which appeared in the 2024 book, Purrseverence by Sierra Koester. In his own words, Harry related how he and his sister joined our family in 2018. The photos have been added to illustrate the story. You can also read Hermione’s blog post, “Where’s my Brother,” here.
Black Cats Do Get Adopted: Harry’s Story
By Debbie De Louise © 2024
My name is Harry. I’m a handsome, four-year-old, dark-furred cat with gold eyes that are sometimes green. I live with my sister in a wonderful home with people who love me. My beginnings, however, were rough. I don’t remember my kittenhood too well before I was three months old. I have vague memories of my mother and none of my father.
I recall being small and scared before I was picked up on the streets one summer day and brought to a place with lots of other cats in cages. My sister was with me, and I was glad that we weren’t separated.
A man wearing a white coat looked in our mouths and ears and placed a strange thing on our chest that was connected to his ears. When he was done examining us, he spoke to a lady and said we were healthy. Then he told her he would perform operations on us called neutering and spaying to stop us from having kittens. That frightened me, but it turned out not to be so bad. I was asleep for it and, when I woke up, I was only a little sore. My sister, on the other paw, didn’t feel so well after her surgery, but she soon bounced back.
We were in that place for a while that we learned was the North Hempstead Animal Shelter until a lady showed up and took us to a house. I thought we’d found a home, but lots of other cats lived there, and there was a sign outside that said, “Golden Paw Society.”
The woman, who was kind, talked to us like we were people. “Hello, Kittens. I’m Eileen. Welcome to the Golden Paw Society. I’ll try to find you good homes soon.” I really liked Eileen.
She let us go free, but at night, we had to sleep in cages. I didn’t mind. My sister liked Eileen, too. She purred. She never purred in the animal shelter.
One day, when it was starting to get cool, a woman visited Eileen. She said she owned a cat café and was looking for kittens who were available for adoption. The lady said her cat café had just opened on Long Island and that it was called The Shabby Tabby Cat Café. I thought that was a cool name. I got excited. The woman took me and my sister, both of us unnamed at the time, to her cat café. It was such a fun place with cat trees, tunnels, and toys. We were also allowed out of our cages, although the owner had a small tent for us where she kept our food and litter boxes because there were older cats there, and she didn’t want us getting hurt or visitors stepping on us.
On our first day at the cat café, people began to arrive. I was out of the tent and sitting by the glass window in the front of the café that was decorated with pumpkins and ghosts. I heard the people who worked there say that Halloween was a week away. I didn’t know what Halloween was, but I was upset when they mentioned that it might be hard to find me a home because I was black. That really bothered me because, while the cat café seemed like a great place, nicer in some ways than Golden Paws and better than the animal shelter, I was hopeful that me and my sister would find a real home.
It hurt to know that I had two strikes against me. Not only was I a color that people feared because of a stupid superstition, but I’d tested positive for a disease called FIV. So had my sister. The lady who owned Shabby Tabby put a notice on our tent about this. She was being honest, but I was afraid it would lessen our chances of anyone wanting us.
My best hope was my sister. She was a beautiful tri-color cat of gray, white, and orange that the owner lady, Ryan, said was a dilute calico. Her chin and undercoat were completely white as well as her paws. She also had pretty green eyes. If people wanted to adopt her, I thought they might take me, too. We were a pair. Ryan had named us Harry and Hermione after characters in books she liked. She adorned me with a swanky bow tie, and my sister with a fancy bow. We were so cute that I couldn’t imagine that people would pass us by.
Then a wonderful thing happened. A woman came into the café with her teenage daughter. The daughter started playing with me with a cat teaser. I gave her a great show by jumping up to catch it, and she laughed at me. I was so happy and proud that she was playing with dark-furred me instead of the other kittens and cats at the cafe.
Meanwhile, the girl’s mother had walked into the back of the café where my sister was staying. After playing with me a few minutes longer, the girl called her mother over to us and said, “I’m in love with this cat, Mom. You know I’ve always wanted a black cat. Can we adopt him, please?”
I was thrilled. I couldn’t believe my luck. Me, a black cat, right before Halloween. I held my breath as I waited for the mother to answer. I saw her look around and then her eyes focused on the sign on our tent. “No, Holly,” she told her daughter. “That cat is sick. He has a disease. We can’t take him.”
Ryan said, “I hear that your daughter is interested in Harry, but you’re worried because he has FIV. The truth is that some kittens are born with it because they’re still on their mother’s immune system, but once their own immune system is develops at around six months of age, many test negative. If you want to take Harry, I’ll pay for the test. Even if he remains FIV positive, it isn’t a death sentence as some people once thought. If he remains an indoor cat and sees a vet regularly, he can live a normal life, as long as any cat.”
Holly’s mother considered what the woman said. But before she could commit, the café owner added, “If you decide to take him, you’ll have to take his sister, Hermione, too.”
Holly’s mother asked who my sister was, and when she saw her, she said, “She’s beautiful, and it’s a coincidence that I just wrote a book with a calico in it.”
I began to be hopeful again. This woman was an author. I’d love to be in her books. But one paw step at a time. I waited for her to decide. I felt like my life hung in the balance.
“I don’t know,” she said to her daughter. “Your father wouldn’t like the idea of us adopting two cats when we still have Stripey. I know we lost Oliver last year who you dearly loved, and he promised you another cat but only one.”
My hopes were dashed again. Then the girl said, “Please, Mom. Dad will listen to you. Tell him I want them for my birthday which is this Wednesday. It would be great to have two cats. They’ll play together, and Stripey will get along with them. He got along well with Oliver.” “Kittens are different, Holly. They’re a lot more work than adult cats.”
“But they’re so cute, and I promise I’ll take care of them. I’ll keep them in my room until they’re old enough to be out with Stripey.”
“You always say that, Holly, and I end up scooping the litter box and feeding them.”
Even though the mother hadn’t relented, I could tell she was wavering. I showed her more of my tricks as Holly waved the cat teaser, and then Hermione walked by, tail held high, and some of the kids who were there with their parents wanted to hold her.
“Mom,” Holly said, “We have to take them or someone else will. Remember that the first time we were here, I wanted another cat but he was already claimed. You said that if I kept looking, I would find the cat that was meant for me. I think Harry is that cat.”
“Okay. You win,” she finally said. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but we had two losses this year – Oliver and your grandmother, so maybe adopting these two kittens will be a good thing for us.”
“Are you taking them then?” Ryan asked.
“Yes,” Holly said, “both of them.”
The next few days were a blur. Holly’s mother, Debbie, had to fill out our adoption papers. Because they had to be approved and Debbie wasn’t ready yet to bring us home, Ryan suggested that she’d bring us back to the Golden Paw Society where Holly and Debbie could pick us up. It was also closer to their home.
It was nice to see Eileen again, but I couldn’t wait to get to Debbie and Holly’s house. Unfortunately, on the day we were to be picked up, I started to sneeze. When Debbie called to confirm picking us up that night, Eileen told her that she wasn’t sure because I might be sick. My heart felt heavy. I was sorry for Hermione. Because of me, she might not get adopted. I feared that my sneezing was the first sign that I really had FIV. I was so sad. If this fell through, who would ever want a sick black cat? Maybe they would let Hermione be adopted without me. That thought terrified me because I was very close to my sister. I cried every time she was out of my sight. I couldn’t be parted from her.
Luckily, my sneezing calmed down and Debbie was told she could come for us. It was the happiest day of my life. Hermione was happy, too. She started purring again, and I joined her.
By the time Debbie and Holly showed up, though, my sneezes had returned. Eileen wasn’t even there because they showed up early. I took that as a good sign because they seemed eager to take us. But when Debbie heard me sneeze, she questioned the lady filling in for Eileen. The lady gave her Eileen’s cell phone number and told her to call her. When she did, Eileen gave her the information for the vet who’d done our operations and shots and told us she’d meet us there, so the vet could look me over. I was surprised and relieved when Debbie agreed. She took the two of us in the one carrier she’d brought, and we fit well because we were so small. The vet checked me over and said I was healthy but might have a slight cold, so he gave Debbie some medicine for me and gave me and Hermione a shot that he said we were due to get soon and might as well have then. When he gave it to me, I cried so much. I hate shots. Hermione didn’t make a peep.
On the ride to Debbie and Holly’s house, I prepared myself to meet the big cat she mentioned and her husband. I was nervous about that. She’d told Holly that he wasn’t happy when he learned she was getting two cats instead of one. Debbie tried to convince him that two cats were just as easy to care for as one and that having a third cat was not a big deal either. Regarding the FIV, she explained what Ryan had told her and that she’d also checked with members of the Cat Writers’ Association to which she belonged. They were knowledgeable about all things feline and gave her the same advice. I knew Hermione and I would still have to prove ourselves to Mr. De Louise.
The first two months in our new home weren’t easy. Shortly after we got there, Hermione began to sneeze too. The medicine didn’t seem to work. Debbie contacted her own vet who told her that we suffered from a similar condition to dog’s Kennel Cough. This often happens to kittens who are brought into a new environment from a shelter and must adjust. Debbie still worried that it was a sign of FIV. But the sneezing wasn’t the only problems we had during our first few months. I came down with an eye infection. Holly helped apply medicine to my eyes until it cleared up. As soon as it did, Hermione came down with the same infection. It kept spreading between us until it was finally gone.
Also, during this time, Debbie was gradually trying to introduce us to Stripey, her tenyear-old mackerel tabby. Hermione had already been sliding her white paws under Holly’s door and playing footsie with Stripey. Debbie, thinking we were ready to meet him, started to bring us out of Holly’s bedroom into the living room when Stripey was there. She and Holly observed us as we interacted with him. I was afraid of him and didn’t get too close, but Hermione was braver and went up to him and hissed. He hissed back. This went on for some time until, right before Christmas, the hissing stopped. The three of us were able to stay in the same room without any problem. Debbie was relieved.
Early in the new year, Hermione and I went for our FIV test. I cried again when the vet took my blood. Debbie anxiously awaited the results that took a few days. When the call came, she was so happy that Hermione had tested negative that she cried. But Holly asked about my results. I had a sinking feeling when I heard Debbie tell her that something went wrong. The lab had lost my results. I knew I had to go back to give more blood. I felt like a very unlucky black cat, but I tried to be brave. Debbie and Holly even brought Hermione with me back to the vet for the blood test. That helped, but I still cried. Since Ryan had paid for the first test, Debbie made a point that she shouldn’t be charged for this one because the lab lost it. The vet’s office agreed with that.
The waiting this time seemed worse. I tried to occupy myself with games, like running through my cat tunnel and popping up in the center of it while Debbie waved a cat teaser over it. I also spent nights with Holly lying on her stomach while she pet me or hanging out in the cat tree in her room with my sister. Debbie finally got the call. I held my breath while she and Holly waited for the news. We didn’t need to hear her say the words. Debbie’s smile told us I was negative. I wasn’t an unlucky black cat. I had a home, and I was healthy.
Time passed, and Hermione and I grew up. I became a lot larger than Debbie and Holly expected. Debbie called me a mini panther. We had such happy days. After Debbie came home from the library where she worked as a librarian, she’d play with us. Her husband accepted us as new members of the family, although he wasn’t too happy when I developed a habit of chewing on strings and wires and destroyed a few of his and Holly’s ear plugs and a bunch of her sneaker laces. They now cover them up, so I don’t see them. I’m also a nose biter, but it’s my way of showing affection. Stripey never became good friends with us, but we sometimes played together. Debbie referred to us as “the boys.” She called me, Hermione, and Stripey, the Three Mouseketeers. Holly said I was her son and Hermione her daughter. That made Debbie our grandmother.
When we were three years old, our true personalities had developed. I enjoyed watching TV with Debbie and her husband at night. I would jump up on her lap, and she would pet me as she watched her favorite shows. She said I was a lap cat and nicknamed me “Handsome Harry” because of my dark good looks. My sister, who now preferred to be in another part of the house than me and wanted to be played with alone, never sat on Debbie or Holly’s laps but loved to lay or sit near them and purr when they petted her. After reading an article about the differences between how cats show their fondness for people, Debbie called Hermione a “nearby cat.”
Even though we had grown apart, Hermione and I were still close. I no longer cried if she wasn’t with me, and I took over the position of alpha cat in the house. I’d come into my own after being a small black kitten. I was proud of the big cat I’d grown into. Even Stripey allowed me to take on a leading role. The three of us sometimes engaged in playfighting but that was only to burn up extra energy. I spent more time with Stripey on the couch in the den, while Hermione stayed in the master bedroom at the other end of the house.
Not too long ago, I noticed Stripey losing weight, even though he was eating the same.
Debbie had taken out the cat carrier which was a sign someone was going to the vet. My sister and I didn’t mind much. We loved to go in the carrier when it was open because it reminded us of the trips we took to the Golden Paw Society and Shabby Tabby and the wonderful outcome of those excursions. Stripey, on the other paw, wasn’t as happy when he saw the carrier. Debbie always managed to get him, especially as he now weighed less than me and Hermione.
Stripey made that trip to Rainbow Bridge in May 2022. I can’t say I missed him too much, but I knew he was gone. I now had the den couch to myself and only had to share my cat food with Hermione, but it felt odd. Debbie and Holly were sad. They both cried a lot and that made me sad, too. I tried to console them and so did Hermione. Cats are great at empathy.
That’s the end of my story so far because it’s still unfolding. The most important thing I wanted to share by telling it is that black cats can be adopted and many end up in good homes like I did. For the ones who are left behind, I can only hope that people recognize that they are as loving and worthy of affection as any colored cat, and they don’t bring bad luck.
I also owe a debt of gratitude to Eileen at the Golden Paw Society and Ryan at the Shabby Tabby Cat Café for all they did for me and Hermione. It’s people like them who make a difference for homeless cats.
Al
