By Stephanie March

This is about a victim and survivor of domestic violence so tiny and so innocent that I have to tell his story for him.  This is about a cat named Bella and the amazing story of our reunion.  How one survivor saved another by refusing to give up on love and finding a new home.

Shortly after I met my ex we decided to adopt a kitten.  I love animals and was so excited the day we went to see the litter of kittens to decide which one to bring home.  My excitement surpassed all levels of normalcy once I saw the tiny kittens running around.  Bella stood out to me immediately.  I had seen his photo online and he was the reason I was there.  He was teeny tiny, had bright blue eyes, and all grey fluff.  Four pounds of love.

I held and played with each kitten but it always came back to Bella.  He was the foster family’s favorite too.  I felt guilty picking him but they assured me they were fine with it.  I offered to pay them but they refused and said they only wanted $1.00 because of a traditional Ukrainian belief about luck.  Little did they know how much luck this little guy would need.

Bella and I bonded right away.  My ex seemed to tolerate this new addition pretty well at first.  Our relationship was already rocky and it would be a lie if I didn’t say I hoped a kitten would somehow bring back a bit of joy.  And he seemed to for a moment.  A very brief moment.  Then, in the blink of an eye, on a normal day, I witnessed the completely abnormal.

The house was quiet and we were both getting ready to go somewhere.  I heard a shuffling of feet and what sounded like my ex falling down.  Immediately I knew something was very wrong because of a sickening feeling deep in my gut.  Every noise became amplified.  I called out to him and asked if he was ok, my heart pounding louder and louder in my chest.  No reply.  I called out again.  Silence.

I kept calling his name as I rounded the corner to our bedroom and it is what I saw in that moment that I will never forget.  He had little four pound Bella in his hands and was hurting him.  Hurting him so badly that Bella couldn’t even cry out in protest.

This scene played out a couple of times and it was this that let me know, without any doubt, how much danger I was in.  I could not bear the thought of waking up or coming home to a fatally injured kitten.  And I was fully aware that, according to the danger assessment my therapist had done, anyone that would hurt an animal wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me more.  I had to go.  We had to go.

The final day when I called 911 I told police what he had done to Bella.  He admitted to it and animal cruelty charges resulted.  A misdemeanor for what would impact both Bella and my memory for the rest of our lives.  A slap on the wrist.  Meanwhile, our lives were turned completely upside down.

Police helped me find a safe house, a shelter for women and children that have been victims of violence.  I was now homeless.  The word itself seemed so surreal.  Homelessness, as defined by a study conducted by Professor Kelly A. Schwend of Bradley University et al, is often a result of personal causes such as “mental health issues, addiction, physical health issues, and domestic violence.”  And so there I was… homeless… because I had loved the wrong person… and begging them to find a way for me to keep Bella.  I was clinging to that little kitten like a life raft in a stormy ocean.  I needed him.  I needed that one thing not to change.  And he needed me.

They found an animal hospital willing to board him for me, courtesy of the organization that ran the shelter.   We were both safe but not together.  I would go visit him when I could and it always reduced me to tears.  I was happy to see the little guy, happy he was safe, but it ripped my heart out that he had experienced so much and I couldn’t keep him with me.  It was torture to walk away and leave him there.  I promised him I would be back, that I would never leave him.  And I told him I was sorry I had failed to protect him.

After 2 months or so, my ex was released from jail, and I had to find a new place to live and begin an entirely new life.  I took Bella to a family member’s home where he could stay for free until I found a safe place to live.  I was encouraged to give him up for adoption or to the local Humane Society.  And I considered it.  But the thought of it reduced me to a weeping mess.  I had lost my home and everything in it and I was being asked to give Bella away.  I couldn’t do it.  I had a promise to keep.

I moved to another safe house.  Then another.  I kept in touch with Bella’s caretaker, heard him meow on speakerphone, and got a few pictures of him sent to me.  Once I moved into my new place, I figured there was no way I could get Bella back and it broke my heart.  But the more I remembered that promise I made the more I knew I had to keep it.  Bella deserved to know he was not forgotten or abandoned.

I created a fundraising event for bringing Bella back.  I wrote about his story and asked friends, family, and strangers to donate.  This was not easy to do.  I was not the best, to say the least, at asking for help or admitting when I needed it.  But this I had to do.   He needed to go to the vet for vaccines, travel medication and an exam.  He needed a new carrier for travel and transportation to bring him to me.  So I asked people to donate or simply spread the word of my efforts.  I wrote about him on my blog and on social media.

People that I know very well donated.  People that I had not seen in over a decade donated.  And people that I never met donated.  I was blown away by the outpouring of support.  Nearly everyone that donated sent a message apologizing for not being able to donate more.  But I was moved to tears by a donation of $5.00.  It was the simple fact of knowing there are people out there that cared about my story, Bella’s story, and were willing to stand beside me in the fight against animal cruelty and domestic violence.

The day finally arrived for me to pick up Bella.  I had not seen him in five months.  Would he remember me?  Would he be traumatized from the trip?  Was I being selfish?  I barely slept the night before.   I got in my car and turned on the music.  I sang along to the music, looked up at the sky, and thanked the universe for the very moment I was in.  I was smiling.  I even laughed.  I was, for the first time in quite a while…  happy.

I practically ran to get him when I arrived.  I opened his carrier and he rushed to me and began to meow and rub his face all over my hands.  I cried.  I told the woman there why I was crying and she began to cry too.  I brought Bella home with me and he immediately began running around and doing flips.  He started to play with his new toys, went crazy on his scratching pad, and was giving me so much love that it was immediately evident he had missed me just as much as I had missed him.  And he immediately owned the place.  I promised him then that he was home now, that we were home now, and that I would never let anyone hurt him again.

Having Bella back was an amazing feeling.  I was able to relax a little more, sleep a little better, and laugh a lot more often.  He helped me recover and heal in ways that another human could not.  He gave me a reason to keep going.  And, even now, I’m not sure if I’m protecting him or if he’s protecting me.

“He who is cruel to animals becomes hard also in his dealings with men. We can judge the heart of a man by his treatment of animals.”

~ Immanuel Kant

Stephanie is a writer, survivor and Domestic Violence advocate.  You can follow her blog at http://stephaniesparklesdaily.blogspot.com and find her on Twitter.