Sarah Bartley & Billie Jean
*Trigger Warning Discussion of Mental Health Trauma*
The story of how Billie Jean and I entered each other’s lives is a sad one, but it blossoms into a beautiful love story, I promise! It was 2014. I’d been living in New York City almost two years—studying, writing, and performing in the comedy scene—when my younger brother died by suicide. Becoming a suicide survivor felt like all my skin was ripped off—my emotions were these raw, exposed wires and my entire being went completely numb.
Seven years ago, awareness surrounding mental health wasn’t as prevalent as it’s becoming now, so I struggled to communicate to most the depth of grief and depression I was experiencing. When I was asked to share, I was left feeling like a social pariah—the looks of horror or discomfort on people’s faces left me feeling so ashamed.
The person I was dating broke up with me. I became too depressed to perform or write. I slept with the lights on because I was afraid of the dark. Hugs from people felt like pins and needles. I quickly recognized that I shouldn't spend this time alone. So a kind friend referred me to a therapist and I asked my roommate if he’d be okay with me adopting a cat.
I grew up with a menagerie of animals being a part of my family, especially cats. My family is military, so moving around meant everyone needed to be able to quickly adapt to a new home, including the animals. Cats are especially great at this. I missed having a cat and needed some sense of familiarity—it seemed like the perfect time to adopt one.
My roommate agreed to my cat request but had some stipulations based on his past experiences: the adopted cat must be male, must be a kitten, must have short hair. I was relieved to be adopting a cat regardless of the terms, so immediately began visiting every New York City rescue center. By the time I got to Sean Casey Animal Rescue (@nyanimalrescue) in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn, I was questioning whether I’d ever find a rescue kitten. Perhaps I wasn’t supposed to adopt a cat?
As #SCAR relayed the news that they too didn’t have any kittens available for adoption, a group of girls—they seemed to be about 8-12-years-old—walked up to me and took me by the hand. They said they were volunteering that day and asked if they could introduce me to the cats #SCAR had.
Leading me through the rescue center, the girls introduced me to each cat. When they got to Billie Jean they said, "This is Billy. No one wants her because she only has one eye. But we think she's the nicest cat."
“When I’m having a bad day or a dark cloud descends, she curls up in my lap while I work to get to a sunnier headspace.”
Billy (now Billie Jean) was displaced during Hurricane Sandy and was found in an abandoned apartment, neglected and injured with other displaced cats. She was lost. I was lost. These girls were on to something. I asked if I could play with Billy. They excitedly obliged, and Billie Jean immediately gave me a hug (I’m not lying—her arms around my neck and everything!). She purred and licked my face, and I burst into tears of relief. My broken heart would be okay.
That day I introduced my roommate to Billie Jean: a female cat, estimated to be about 6-years-old, and a complete fluff ball. The exact opposite of what I agreed to!
Luckily for me, Billie Jean is the most extroverted, loving cat a person could ask for. My roommate (of course) fell in love with her, and so began Billie Jean’s warm-hearted transformation of my life. Her quirky little personality wins over the hardest of hearts—we’re talking those people who loudly proclaim to hate cats. She’s literally the life of every party, sitting in the middle of my friends cuddling and listening to everyone. When I get home, Billie Jean excitedly greets me at the door for a belly rub, then follows me around the apartment chirping and chattering—I listen and ask questions as she animatedly tells me about her day. When I’m having a bad day or a dark cloud descends, she curls up in my lap while I work to get to a sunnier headspace. Every morning Billie Jean props her head on my leg while I meditate, and sits on the bathroom sink while I shower. I like to think she’s my protector.
Because she only has one eye, Billie Jean has very little depth perception. So she doesn’t really jump onto furniture, high shelves or counters, but she does have her fair share of physical comedy moments. When I’m working through an idea or creative block in my head, I pick her up and carry her around the apartment—her purrs and kisses allow my mind to wander, and my height allows her to see all the things she can’t see living as a cat who jumps no higher than two feet.
I could not have grieved nor could I have healed without Billie Jean. She's my little pirate princess who radiates love and laughter all day, every day. I’m forever grateful for our relationship.
*If you or someone you know is in an emergency, call The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (8255) or call 911 immediately.*
Sarah M. Bartley is a New York City-based filmmaker, writer, and occasional actor. When she’s not doing those things, you can find her browsing flea markets and bookstores or chilling in the corner of a bar observing everyone. As Nora Ephron once said, everything is copy.
You can find her work at www.sarahbartley.com