Star Wars demands chin scratches. (Iris Stanley photo)
Star Wars saved my life.
No, really.
It didn’t happen terribly long ago or in a faraway galaxy like the movies would have you believe. This story dates much closer to the present day here on Earth.
The day was May 15, 2022. I had just turned 31, and my partner at the time and I had decided to venture down to the Brunswick campus of the Midcoast Humane Society to look around with a cat carrier in the trunk (“just in case”). You all know how that usually goes.
There were several cats that I had found myself interested in based on appearances alone, although none of them were particularly interested in me. I was disappointed and ready to give up when I found my partner at the time utterly bewitched by a tiny, terrified torbie with an aggressive love of chin scratches hiding behind a bed sheet.
Bluie, as the shelter called her, became the newest resident of The Studio that afternoon.
The name Bluie became a placeholder over the following days as we pondered what may suit her better. In between seasonal jobs, I was able to keep an eye on her all day — a good thing, as I grew increasingly concerned at her inability to keep food and water down.
Star Wars worships the lamp god. (Iris Stanley photo)
With a vet appointment scheduled just a few days into owning her, the pressure was on to choose a name — the clock was ticking. A random name generator would have had better luck as we were still just starting to get to know her. She was fearful, but quirky — a mighty hunter of cat toys and boxer shorts, laying them beside my pillow as an offering while I slept.
We had a few names that we liked, but we kept coming back to this one silly idea.
I phoned the veterinary clinic.
“Hi, I need to make an appointment for my cat, Star Wars.”
So it goes.
The transition from 2022 into 2023 marked the beginning of a tumultuous tumble into the next chapter of my life. Between November and February, I moved twice; January saw me under the knife for life-changing surgery; I became a single cat-parent with sole custody in February.
A highly sensitive person, grief and overwhelm wounded me like a Morgul knife. I became a mere shade of the person people knew me to be, forcing myself to carry on through the haze when giving up altogether seemed preferable to the terrible, albeit temporary, pain and the inherent risks of future vulnerability.
Star Wars lulls admirers into a false sense of security. (Iris Stanley photo)
But there is some good in this world, and it was worth fighting for — it took the form of a seven-pound feline who, in the same nine months that ultimately broke me, became a stage five clinger with an attitude. With all the beauty of a Nabooian senator and the grace of a Gungan outcast, Star Wars became a chaotic beacon of renewed hope. I could go on living for her sake — for her well-being and her happiness — until I rebuilt myself to a point where my continued survival was self-motivated.
Life continued to have many ups and downs between then and now, but I persisted. Much has changed, but Star Wars has been a comforting constant and welcome companion.
As fate should have it, the stars aligned in such a way that the pet feature during Mental Health Awareness Month fell on her “gotcha day.”
“It would be even better if it were May 4th,” I’ve been told, as the day is informally known as Star Wars Day.
My response? “You would think so, but she’s not named Star Wars after the science fiction franchise — she’s named Star Wars after the Wilco album.”
(“Paper Pets” spotlights the animal companions of Lincoln County News employees.)
