I am, and always have been, the cat lady.

I’ve managed to keep my addiction under control, limiting myself to just two of the feisty, independent little critters at a time. It’s hard. I love cats.

It was one of the deciding factors in selling my hobby farm. I knew if I decided to settle in forever, I’d adopt them all.

Another good reason to downsize.

Echo is a Maine Coon mix. She’s been with me for 3 years, since the fourth time I visited her at the local shelter. Smart, loyal and beautiful, she loved living on the farm. During the day, she’d be outside chasing butterflies, and snuggled up next to me at night. But she is SO shy. Low warning growls would let me know if visitors had arrived. By the time they got to the door, she would vanish…just an Echo of a cat. I’m not sure I convinced people I really had one.

Echo and I practiced camping. She loved it until other campers arrived around us. Bolting for the camper, she buried her head in a corner, obviously stressed. When that didn’t help, she ripped at the screens, trying to escape to freedom.

There wasn’t enough time left before I moved out of my house to acclimate her to traveling. I also had no idea what life would be like on the road. Would it be too hot in the camper? How long would I need to leave her at a time? How would I keep her safe from other animals? Would she run away and get lost? Would it be like having a child to worry about, or a friend to journey with?

The thought of leaving Echo behind was really hard. I know, she’s just a cat. But, she’s my cat. And I’m her person. She’s been my companion during lonely winters at the farmstead, and my playmate in the yard in the summer. In the end, I decided to leave her with a friend for the first winter, while I explored the answers.

I call it the cat hostel.

It’s pretty sweet.   She gets free rent, roommates she likes, and all the best toys. She and her buddies take turns on the giant cat tower in the picture window. They like to watch the birds outside, drawn to the windows by well-placed feeders. Padded beds sit by the fireplace; toys beckon everywhere, right down to a mannequin dressed in a fur suit to climb. There’s an Infinity scratching pad; designed by felines, I’m pretty sure. When they’re not scratching it, they’re either lounging on top, or playing peek through the holes in its figure 8 shape. The roomies each have their own food dish together in a communal dining area, one per cat. There are 3 litter boxes in a separate area as well; these tenants get the Christmas wrapping paper tub size, so they don’t have to maneuver.

A giant exercise wheel? Yeah, they got that.

Even my cat is glamping.

As a matter of fact, as winter has passed, she’s become pretty cozy. I know, I can watch her on the live feed my friend set up for me.

Okay, so my friend is a crazy cat person, too.

Watching Echo settle in so comfortably, and hearing she is now greeting visitors enthusiastically, makes me happy. Recalling her distress during our camping excursion, I’ve reconsidered what’s best for her. I don’t think she wants to be my camper buddy. She loves feeling comfortable enough in her environment to not only accept, but welcome new people. It makes me happy, and sad, at the same time. I want her with me. But, I think she wants to stay in Michigan, in a real house.

It may be time to adjust my expectations of our relationship.

Since I left Michigan, I’ve consciously considered how a pet would fit in to each moment of the journey. When it would be a positive addition, when it would be impractical, and how we might make it work. I wasn’t sure how a cat would fit, but I know there’s an empty space. It would have to be a pretty special kind of feline.

Throughout my journey, I’ve relapsed a few times. I go to the local shelters to cuddle them, I admit it. I play with them, and pick up on each one’s personality. I’ve managed to rule each of them out, with my nearly impossible list of qualities for the right travel cat:

1. Able to meet dogs in campgrounds and not freak out.
2. Social with people and enjoys company.
3. Willing to be tucked into a tiny camper without ripping her way out.
4. Likes to go for long walks on a harness and leash.
5. Enjoys riding in the car.
6. Friendly with other cats, and female, so she can sister with Echo.
7. Smart and well-behaved.
8. Comfortable being solo.
9. Loves me best.
10. Photogenic, beautiful and matches my camper.

(I’ll also admit, when I set goals, they’re usually a little high.)

So basically, I was trying to find a superstar cat, without stealing one that’s already made their fame on YouTube. Because that’s the only place I’ve seen cats that cool, and they’re probably photo-shopped.

Now that I had a general idea what life was going to look like in my world, I was ready to look. Instead of just sneaking in for snuggles at the local shelters; I was serious.

Today, I woke feeling like my superstar cat was waiting for me. I drove into Gainesville, and met all the hopefuls at the Alachua County Animal Shelter. A darling Bengal mix caught my eye. She might have matched my camper, but her other qualities were a stretch.

Some were friendly, some were pretty, most were boys. Some reached through the bars, trying to grasp on. I felt like Goldilocks…none was just right.

After making it through the social group sections, I was on my way into the last room. These were feral cats, so I was only going in, to see if any of them wanted a quick scratch. The door popped open, and a friendly cat handler asked if she could help.   I rattled off the basics; friendly, female and comfortable with new things.

“Have you met Bella?” she asked.

We wandered back to the main “social feline” room, where the Bengal continued to complain loudly.

Bella, a brown tabby, with big white patches like a painted pony, peered out from her comfy nest in the back of a big cage of felines. She hadn’t come out to meet me before; her nap was evidently more important than putting on the kennel show. The lady coaxed her out. With a long stretch, she popped her very large belly out of her hideaway. She was enormous.

“She’s a little overweight”, said her handler, “but she’s a real sweetheart.”

Bella strolled out of her cage, purring and rubbing up against my leg. The other cats in the cage darted through the open door, headed for freedom; the handler disappearing after them. Bella gave them a condescending look, rubbing her head against my hand for more scratches. She seemed to think they were idiots. I thought she was mostly correct.

I pulled out the little harness I’d found at a thrift shop an hour earlier, and slipped it over her head. It was a test. Some cats can’t stand up with a harness on, or maybe they just won’t. Even with the thing on all wrong, she wore it like I’d put a crown on her head, strutting about.

Having herded up the other cats back into the corral, the handler read from Bella’s chart. “Terrified of dogs,” she noted.

I knew it. I was asking for the impossible.

“Don’t believe it,” she said. “Those things are wrong a lot. Want me to introduce her to one of the dogs?”

I requested it not be a big, or aggressive dog. (We won’t be playing with any of those.) Another helper brought a friendly, quiet-mannered terrier to the other side of the glass door. We held the door ajar, while Bella and the terrier sniffed noses, stretched to the ends of their leashes. Nobody flinched. Tails continued to indicate curiosity.

Oh my stars, I think I found my cat.

Bella and I paid her $20 hotel fee, and the helpful dog staff attempted to fit her large body into the small cardboard carrier. Her tail was left still sticking outside, gradually disappearing inch by inch.

Our first stop was the Pet Warehouse. We went in and walked around the store. She tried on a new pink dog harness and matching leash, then headed to the cat section to pick out things for her room and some take-out for dinner. We said hello a couple of times to a dachshund mix in the aisles. I didn’t tell her the harness made her look fatter.

After checking out, Bella wasn’t excited about returning to the box. She softly mewed for a few minutes, eventually deciding to take another nap.

When we finally pulled onto our street, I popped open the carrier to see her reaction. Bella climbed up onto the passenger seat, then resolved to jump into the back. She performed a less than graceful belly flop on the rear floor. Embarrassed, she climbed back up onto the console between the front seats. Lowering herself gently into a low sit, she pushed her cheek against my shoulder for more cuddles. Her purrs lit up the car as I complied. She rode shotgun the rest of the way to camp.

Tomorrow we might try a bike ride on Goddess, who found a perfect little rear basket at the Flea Market.

As for Echo and I, we both get what we want. I hang out with her during Michigan summers, and she gets her permanent day spa. (Unless she decides she wants to come along.)