Just Ghosts In Time
"You don't want this cat."
I've adopted a handful of cats over the years, and to this day, I've never heard anyone at an animal shelter say that to a potential adopter.
It was February of 2023. I had recently left a sixteen-year relationship and moved into an apartment of my own. The place was probably too large for one person and definitely more expensive than I should have been comfortable with. Everything seemed to cost money at once. New furniture. New appliances. Rising grocery prices. Bills that never stopped arriving. My cat Stella had come with me, but without the dog and people she was accustomed to tormenting, I had become the sole target of her aggression. A friend suggested I get her a companion.
That's how I found Sawyer.
When I called the shelter, the woman on the phone explained why I should reconsider. Sawyer had feline herpesvirus. A severe eye infection had already cost him one eye. He required medications, eye cream, and more care than most adopters were looking for. For weeks, I put cream in his eye several times a day, wrestled pills into him, and held him still while trying to squirt medicine down his throat with an eyedropper. The way she described him, he sounded less like a pet and more like a project.
Naturally, I adopted him.
What I didn't expect was the weight of the commitment. Cats can live twenty years or more. At a time when I was already rebuilding my life from scratch, I suddenly found myself responsible for another living creature who might be sharing that life for the next two decades. Where would I be twenty years from now? What kind of man would I become? What would become of him? The phrase "Nine Lives From Now" arrived before the song itself. As a writer, sometimes a line is enough to start digging.
The strange thing is that the song wasn't really about cats. At least not entirely. It was about mentally preparing for the inevitable. We do that all the time. We look ahead toward losses we know are coming and try to make peace with them before they arrive. We do it with our pets. We do it with our parents. We do it with relationships. We do it with our own lives. Part of us hopes that if we think about the future enough, maybe it won't catch us by surprise.
Shortly after I adopted Sawyer, a veterinarian informed me that Stella had a severe heart murmur. The prognosis wasn't good. They told me how she would likely go. Last year, she did exactly that. I still think about her often. Her ghost lingers in the house. Not because I lack other cats—Sawyer is actually asleep on my lap as I write this—but because no cat is interchangeable with another. I miss Stella's particular spirit. Her habits. Her attitude. Her willingness to make her displeasure known.
One of the things I love most about songwriting is that songs preserve emotional moments in a way photographs cannot. A photograph can show you what someone looked like. A song can show you what it felt like to be a particular person at a particular moment in time. When I listen to Nine Lives From Now, I don't just hear a song about cats. I hear the version of myself sitting in that apartment in 2023, trying to rebuild a life, wondering what the future held, and looking at a one-eyed rescue cat that a shelter employee practically begged me not to adopt.
Years later, I suspect that woman was lying. Not maliciously. I think she had fallen in love with him. The shelter staff cried when I took him home. Now I understand why. Sawyer is the embodiment of love.
The line that means the most to me today comes at the very end of the song: "just ghosts in time." I mean it both sadly and peacefully. The version of me who wrote the song is already becoming a ghost. Stella is gone. Someday Sawyer and I will be too. There is sadness but there is also gratitude. None of this lasts forever. The purrs. The companionship. The hopes. The ordinary moments. That's precisely why they matter. For a little while, we get to keep each other company. Then we become ghosts in time.
Adopting a rescue cat like Sawyer, especially one with special needs such as feline herpesvirus, can be a profoundly rewarding yet challenging experience. When I first welcomed such a cat into my home, I quickly realized that caring for him required patience and dedication—picking up medications, applying eye creams multiple times a day, and ensuring he felt loved despite his health struggles. These daily rituals not only strengthened our bond but also deepened my appreciation for the resilience and unique personalities of rescue cats. Moreover, the emotional connection that develops with a beloved pet is unlike any other. Pets, particularly those we adopt from shelters, often come with stories of trauma or loss, and giving them a second chance becomes a shared journey. Over time, I found myself reflecting on the inevitability of loss and the importance of cherishing the present moments together. Just like in the story where the author mentions "just ghosts in time," every purr, play, and companionship minute became a precious memory etched in time. The process also taught me the value of advocating for animals who might be overlooked—for instance, when shelter staff discourage adopting a cat because of health challenges, that’s often more about the extra care involved than the cat’s worth. Yet, those cats frequently turn out to be some of the most loving and grateful companions, calling for us to embrace compassion and long-term commitment. In addition, adopting a rescue cat impacts your personal growth. When I took on this responsibility, I faced uncertainties about the future and my own life trajectory; however, the presence of such a vulnerable yet loving creature inspired me to rebuild a life worth sharing. It highlighted the intertwined nature of healing—not just for the pet but for the owner as well. Sharing these stories within communities, whether online groups like #RescueCat or supportive forums, offers solace and connection. No pet is interchangeable, and honoring their individual spirit through storytelling or songwriting, as the author does, keeps their memory alive beyond the physical presence. For anyone considering adopting a rescue cat with special needs, it is a journey of love, resilience, and profound emotional rewards that transcends ordinary pet ownership.
