Sary Nachabe 11/12/2021 “It’s good to have you back, Sary,” my roommate said to me as I was spacing off into the wall in our apartment. I had just gotten off a flight from home and was finally back in Pensacola, Florida. It had been almost a year since I had seen him last, and it almost felt surreal. I remember telling him how nice it was to finally be back in Florida, though there was a creeping feeling in my stomach telling me something was different. As the days went on, though, that creeping feeling soon became the only thing I felt. The Pensacola I had left was not the same when I came back. For the last eight months, I had been in my hometown of Pasadena, California, where I was supposed to spend only the summer there. However, the ongoing pandemic had practically forced me to stay at home with my parents for the rest of the fall semester. While it was nice to see my family and friends again, I started to miss my life in Florida, and the people there. After all, I was trying to build my adult life there, whereas my hometown just contained memories of my high school years. What became a nice trip home soon became almost like a prison sentence for my physical and mental wellbeing. Truthfully, it is still hard for me to remember my time back at home, as each day was just the copy of the last. The routine I made for myself at the beginning of my trip soon lasted a full eight months with little to no deviation. It was the same: wake up, exercise, eat, do homework, and bum around for the rest of the day. Of course, with time, I got used to that routine. More dangerously, though, I was getting complacent in my routine. The comfort of doing the same thing in the same place constantly made me get used to living at home and with my parents, and the thought of me leaving to be an “adult” again seemed a little frightening. My memory of it is still blurry, and its honesty lacked anything fun or surprising. I think I only saw my friends a handful of times the eight months I was there, which was a huge bummer. When boarding my flight to Pensacola, I figured that my ailments would be solved upon being back, hoping a grand return would flush out all of my feelings of anxiety and sorrow. That was not the case. When I finally threw all my things down in my room, I didn’t even try to settle in; I decided to start a new routine entirely and believe that it was same Florida that I had left for eight months. As time went on, I started to find out that of course, things move on when you are not around. Close friends of mine were no longer friends, while some may have moved on from me. Anytime I would meet up with someone an awkward silence would often follow our small talk. There was a disconnect; it was as if I was meeting a stranger. Not only was I slowly disengaging with my friends, but I also started to forget my way around Pensacola. Soon enough, I found myself in my room, in my apartment, at almost every single hour of the day. Being inside for eight months made me feel more comfortable being alone than socializing with other people in public. This started to take a toll on my mental state, impacting my eating habits, my sleep, and the way I functioned. Everything I did was centered around my room. It was my prized possession, my own space where I could do whatever I wanted without being judged or uncomfortable. If I went out, I craved for the moment I could finally be back in my room enjoying my free time. The only time I would leave was for groceries or food. Even when I started to work, the feelings carried over. The impact of always being inside resulted in a crippling feeling of being out of place, as if I no longer belonged in Florida. I felt like all my friends had moved on without me, and that everything had completely changed. I struggled to reintegrate myself into my old habits and Pensacola in general. The days were beautiful. A sunny sky, a cool breeze, and a small-town vibe that could make anyone feel at home; but not me. My time away made me feel like Pensacola was no longer the place I would be building my life, and so I continued to struggle with my loneliness. Something was rattling around in my head, telling me that I needed someone or something in my life. A pet perhaps, but I immediately started looking at all the responsibilities I would need to take up if I did. I wasn’t sure if I could support one financially, nor was I sure if I had the time. As time went on, I started to entertain the thought more as I coped with my empty days. The nights were always the worst, though. Being with family so long, I almost forgot what it was like to be completely alone at night, and the sense of being comfortable soon took its exit. It was just me, in my bed, eyes peeled on the ceiling as if that would magically contain the answer to my loneliness. The next morning, I would arise like a corpse from the grave, carrying no emotions. Like a leaf in the wind, I was moving wherever the wind pushed me. Schoolwork got done on time, I slugged my way through work without speaking a word and continued to live with no goals in mind, just the spirit of going through the motions. The color was slowly fading away from my surroundings until I almost lived in black and white. Each time I felt this way, the idea of adoption was becoming more prevalent. I have always wanted a cat, the same way my dad had one when he was in college, but I didn’t know where to start. I can’t say exactly what my breaking point was, but I remember a day that was so bad it was as if a thousand pounds were on my chest and my stomach was constantly being twisted around. I knew deep down that I could no longer keep moving forward feeling empty. It was an exhausting feeling, and it prompted me to make a decision I would never regret. The next few weeks I would dedicate my time to researching the adoption of a cat because I figured it would be beneficial to be around and take care of another living thing. There was a no-kill shelter in Fort Walton Beach that I found perfect and would constantly look on their website for a new companion. This process took several days, up until I found the perfect cat. She was a small, year-old grey and black tabby with the stripes of a tiger and the spots of a cheetah. Her name was Mary. Excitedly, I called the shelter and told them I was interested in adopting her, and after taking my personal information, the man, whose name was Eric, helped me settle an appointment for me to visit and see if I truly connect with Mary and take her home that day. I was ecstatic. For once in my time back, I felt happy about what was to come, and counted down the hours until I could drive over and finally meet Mary. The days that followed included pain-staking clock watching, as well as copious amounts of trips to PetSmart and Petco to ensure that I had everything she would need. I wanted everything to be perfect, which was a new feeling compared to just lettings things fall where they are. On the day of my appointment, I made the hour-long drive over to the shelter. I found myself walking in almost visibly shaking with joy as I told the receptionist that I was there to meet Mary. After filling out the initial paperwork, one of the veterinarian technicians took me to the chat room where I saw her in person. While all the other cats were sleeping, eating, running around, or playing with each other, she was laying down on a ledge looking out the window. The vet tech opened the door to the cat room, and I cautiously stepped inside and approached Mary. When she turned around and saw me step over to her, she didn’t run and hide or lash out. The moment I put my hands on her to pet her head, she closed her eyes and started purring. Instantly, I was in love. After spending roughly five minutes just scratching her head, I decided that it was time, and told the vet tech that my heart was set on Mary. We left the chat room, and I was brought back to the receptionist desk to fill out the adoption paperwork. I could remember, clear as day, after finishing one page, I turned to look inside of the cat room and Mary was looking right back at me. Since then, Mary has brought nothing but joy and color back into my life. She is what help me reintegrate myself back into my adult life in Pensacola. She sports a diva-like personality and enjoys being in the spotlight constantly. Though skittish when I first brought her home, she has grown extremely comfortable with me and her environment. She went from hiding under my bed to taking day naps sprawled out in my dirty laundry basket. When I’m working on my computer, she will hop up on my disk to sit on my lap just so she can be involved with whatever I am doing. Adopting her was a choice that I will never regret, and she truly is the light of my life.
