You were warned about this “vicious tabby.”
You’re so scared to walk into the room, the treats in your hand rattle.
You go in anyway. (That’s the kind of brave potato you are. Don’t ever change.)
You take one look at the cat you expect to fear, and you love him so much, so fast, you nearly fall down.
Congratulations: you’ve just been Riled.
There is no reasonable explanation for this, but the world already has too many reasonable explanations.
All you have, and all you need, is this moment with this cat.
This cat comes by his reputation honestly. You were not misinformed.
Riley is “semi-feral,” which is kind of like saying Berry is “semi-cute,” or New Jersey is “semi-peculiar,” or a taco is “semi-fantastic.”
Riley’s resume includes hissing from orifices that do not hiss, Best Performance by a Rage Burrito in biting through towels, and saying the words “I do not want to be here” in 47 languages, including Klingon, Elvish, and teeth.
You were warned.
But for some reason, or something better than reason, you took the assignment anyway.
There is nothing like real love to knock you flat on your bum.
As a Tabby’s Place volunteer, your heart is big enough for both honey-bear cats and horseradish cats.
You excel in both of our socialization programs. In Comfort Buddies, you provide uninterrupted smooshing and mooshing to marshmallows like Peabody. In Befriending Fearful Felines (B.F.F.), you offer peace to the likes of shy Sassy.
Our Behavior Team trained you well.
But, no training on Earth applies when the wheels come off your own wariness. So, there you stand, slack-jawed at a cat who is considering whether he can open his mouth wide enough to insert your head.
Or is he?
Out in the “reasonable” world, Rileys get reputations. They are marked as “difficult.” They are known for their “no,” so no one listens long enough to know that all their fury is fear.
Beneath the bluster is a bashful brown tabby, who still sees a kitten with a cowlick when he looks in the mirror.
But you know this cat.
You’re aware you have never seen him before, but you can’t shake the sense that you are already someone to each other.
You’re not the only one who feels that way.
Riley gazes down at you like a shy, striped moon. Since love at first sight has turned your knees to jelly, you’re on the floor.
Congratulations: that is the perfect place to learn wonderful things.
From the floor, you can see the sweetness in a stoic cat’s eyes. It’s there, like a golden apple on the tallest branch. Stay seated when fear tells you to run, and Riley will tell you tender secrets.
He was loved, for instance, loved just the way he is. Anything else is something other than love. Riley’s mama rejoiced over him. She was grateful for the mysteries and miracles that put this cat in her life — what are the odds?
She was delighted that he was Riley, quiet and pensive. She would not change one thing about him.
He misses her.
But now, he’s peering at you with that certain look of recognition. A cat always knows when he is someone to someone. It is the rarest thing in the world.
Sit a little longer, and you will notice something else rare. Riley’s feet are more than their history of swats and scratches. They are soft as cannellini beans, with tiny bruises.
He lives with an autoimmune condition called pillowfoot, painful and humbling. It makes his words come out all trippy when he tries to speak with his toes.
We have mistranslated. Riley never said “I don’t want to be here.”
It was always, “Handle me with care.”
Congratulations: you’ve just been Riled, and you will never be the same.