Yesterday was Isabella’s Adoption Day, and somehow I forgot.

In my defense, my mind hasn’t exactly been firing on all cylinders lately. Between migraines, work, and worrying about Isabella’s recent health issues, June 18 slipped by without me realizing what day it was. It wasn’t until later that I remembered: yesterday marked ten years since I adopted Isabella.

Ten years ago, I walked into the local humane society and met a tiny black kitten they had named Bridget. She was frightened, hiding under a chair, and uncertain about the strange world around her. I knew almost immediately that Bridget wasn’t her name. My cats have always been named after queens. Victoria had already held that title in my life, and Elizabeth was out because that’s my sister’s name. But Isabella—Queen Isabella—seemed fitting. Regal. Strong. Memorable.

What I didn’t know then was how important Isabella would become.

When I adopted her in June of 2016, I was still trying to find my footing in Vermont. I had moved 1,200 miles from home, and the year before had been one of the most difficult of my life. I was grieving the loss of a dear friend and struggling with loneliness in a place that still felt unfamiliar. Isabella arrived at exactly the right moment.

She was timid at first. She hid under the bed, cried when I left the room, and seemed convinced that everything in the apartment was out to get her. But little by little, she grew more confident. Soon she was exploring every corner of the apartment and making herself completely at home.

Unlike some cats, Isabella is not especially vocal. Most of the time, she communicates without making a sound at all. She has a look for when she wants something. A look for when she’s annoyed. A look for when she’s judging me. She quietly meows in the mornings when it’s time for breakfast, becomes quite vocal when I return from a trip and she wants to tell me everything I’ve missed, and will call out if she can hear me but can’t see me on the other side of a door. The rest of the time, she somehow manages to make her wishes known without saying a word.

Over the years, Isabella has been my constant companion. She has greeted me when I came home from work, curled up beside me when I wasn’t feeling well, and kept me company through moments of joy and moments of heartbreak. She has been the steady presence waiting for me at the end of each day.

Lately, I’ve been reminded just how much she means to me. Her asthma diagnosis and recent cardiac testing have been a source of worry. Watching her struggle to breathe during an asthma attack was frightening, and waiting for answers has not been easy. The good news is that she has not had an asthma attack in several days, which gives me hope that the medication is helping. We still have an echocardiogram ahead of us, but for now I am grateful for every quiet day when she seems comfortable and content.

Today, Isabella is ten years older than the tiny kitten I brought home from the shelter. She’s still stubborn. She’s still opinionated. She’s still the queen of this castle. And despite all the gray hairs she’s probably responsible for giving me, I wouldn’t trade a single day with her.

Ten years ago, I thought I was rescuing a frightened little kitten.

The truth is that she rescued me too.

Happy Belated Adoption Day, Isabella. Thank you for ten wonderful years.

For the past couple of days, Isabella has been coughing. It’s not constant, but it seems to happen two or three times a day. This morning, I’m taking her to the veterinarian. I was very relieved that I was able to get an appointment so quickly.

I hope this turns out to be nothing serious, but I’ll be honest—I’m worried.

Isabella is 10 years old, and in all the years I’ve had her, she’s never really been sick. That’s one reason this has me so concerned. The good news—and I hope it’s a good sign—is that she’s still eating normally, drinking plenty of water, and using the litter box regularly. I’ve checked her ears, and they’re cool. Her nose is cool and wet. Other than the coughing, she doesn’t seem to have any obvious signs of illness.

Of course, cats are masters at hiding when something is wrong. It’s part of their nature to conceal vulnerability.

What worries me most is that I think the coughing is frightening her. She’s been coming to me more often and purring louder than usual. Most people associate purring with happiness and contentment, but cats also purr when they’re scared, stressed, or trying to comfort themselves.

This morning she was lying on my hip when she started coughing. The coughs seemed stronger than they had been before, and with each one, her claws dug a little deeper into my leg. It broke my heart because she seemed so scared and unsure of what was happening.

I’m grateful that I called the vet yesterday and that they can see her this morning. Hopefully, by this afternoon, I’ll have some answers and some peace of mind.

I’m worried about my girl, y’all. I’m scared that something might be wrong.

If you’re the praying type, please keep Isabella in your prayers today. If prayer isn’t your thing, please send some positive thoughts and good energy her way. She—and I—could use all the support we can get.

Thank you.

Isabella Update

First, thank you to everyone who kept Isabella in your thoughts and prayers this morning.

Other than screaming the entire way to the veterinarian’s office and the entire way home, Isabella did great at the clinic. The veterinarian examined her, took x-rays, and said everything looked good. They also checked her teeth and gave her a thorough examination. From all appearances, she is in excellent health.

The diagnosis is asthma. The vet is treating her with steroids and antibiotics, and they are optimistic that this treatment will resolve the problem. They also drew some blood for testing, but those results won’t be back until Monday. I decided to go ahead with the bloodwork so that we would have a good baseline for her health moving forward.

The most encouraging thing the veterinarian told me is that once she completes this treatment, she may never have another asthma episode. If it does become a recurring issue, there are inhalers available that can help manage it.

Needless to say, I am greatly relieved. After worrying myself sick for the past couple of days, it was wonderful to hear that my girl is otherwise healthy.

At the moment, however, Isabella is not nearly as happy with me as I am with the veterinarian. She is currently home, resting, and making it very clear that she has not forgiven me for today’s adventure.

Thank you again for all your kind thoughts, prayers, and positive energy. They mean a great deal to both of us.

Ten years ago, in Maryland, a cat gave birth to a beautiful black kitten. That little kitten, along with her brothers, would eventually make her way to Vermont—though neither of us knew at the time just how much we would come to need one another.

I had been in Vermont for about eight months. It was a difficult season in my life. I was lonely and struggling with depression, still grieving the loss of one of my best friends, who had died in a car accident just seven months earlier. My two cats were still back in Alabama because my apartment didn’t allow pets, and I felt their absence deeply.

One day, while my landlords were downstairs renovating an apartment, I mentioned that I was planning to move so I could have a cat again. They told me that if I put down a $50 deposit, I could have one. That was all I needed to hear. I got my checkbook and wrote the check that day.

I went to the local humane society and told them I wanted to adopt a kitten. They said they had four—three males and one female. The three males were tumbling over each other, full of energy and mischief. But off to the side, tucked under a chair, was a small, solid black kitten—quiet, a little frightened, and completely alone.

I picked her up, and in that moment, I knew. She was meant for me.

Her name was Bridget, which just didn’t fit. My previous cat, Victoria—named for Queen Victoria—had truly been a queen in every sense, and on this blog she was known as HRH, Her Royal Highness. I had lost her just shy of her 16th birthday, and I still felt that absence.

So I decided this kitten needed a queen’s name too.

Elizabeth was out (my sister already had that name), Mary didn’t feel quite right, and Catherine… well, I wasn’t going to name a cat “Cat.” I wanted something strong. I considered Boadicea—Boudica—but it felt a bit unwieldy. Then I landed on Isabella, after Isabella I of Castile, the formidable queen who completed the Reconquista and helped finance Christopher Columbus’s voyage.

And just like that, Bridget became Isabella.

She took to the name immediately—and has lived up to it ever since.

When I first saw her, she was a scared and lonely kitten, and I was a depressed and lonely man. Somehow, together, we found our way through both her fear and my grief. I had good friends, like Susan, who helped me through that time—but Isabella deserves a great deal of the credit as well.

Even now, I still have days—or sometimes weeks—when depression creeps back in. But Isabella is always there.

She’s not exactly a cuddler, at least not in the traditional sense. She doesn’t curl up in my arms or demand constant affection. But she is always near. Always in the same room. Sometimes under the bed, sometimes tucked into a corner, sometimes simply watching. And when she does want to be close, she’ll come lay across my hip.

The closest she comes to cuddling is when I’m on my back and she stretches herself along me, her paws resting on my chest, quietly asking to be petted.

As I write this, she’s standing beside me, reminding me that it’s time to stop typing and start giving her the attention she believes she is owed—which, to be fair, she probably is.

Ten years ago today, I had no idea that the best medicine for my loneliness and depression had just been born 500 miles south of Vermont.

But I’m very glad she was.

Happy Birthday, Isabella. 🎂🐈‍⬛

A little cat birthday humor for you: