Note to Readers: I would like to apologize for not posting last week. To be transparent, I am still going through court proceedings that directly related the abuser here in my blog. If you stick with me, you’ll eventually find out about it in later episodes.
Trigger Warning: To those who are sensitive about animal abuse, this holds graphic details about my abuser abusing my cats.
As I had mentioned in the previous blog episode, my abuser and I had just adopted a couple of kittens about four months old, Dory and Nemo. I thought things would get better between him and I now that we had them—emotional support animals for both of us. But of course, that wasn’t the case. Not even close.
Before we had adopted kittens, my abuser had always talked about training. He would tell me stories about how his mother used to train dogs very well. They were so obedient that they would stay in her bag to go in and out of their apartment complex undetected given the apartment complex charged more rent for pets.
I had mostly owned dogs which were decently trained and only one cat that I never had to train because she learned how to use the litter box on her own and was quite self-sufficient as cats are known to be. Because he had experience in training animals so well, I figured he would be in charge of the training and I would follow suit. But what I saw instead was the most horrifying treatment I’d ever witnessed in my life.
I thought training cats consisted of coming to you when called, tricks or even using the toilet. I’ve seen those types of videos on YouTube that looked so cool. But when it came to my abuser, it was something totally different. At first, he was so nice and gentle with them. He treated them so well but then he started to show his true colors.
Nemo and Dory began to get really comfortable running around the house. Dory had a habit of climbing on counters and being destructive with things. That’s when the abuse started. At night time when the cats were most active, he would put a leash on them and tie them to our coat rack so that they wouldn’t make noise running around the apartment. When the cats were caught on the counter, he would grab them by the neck and spank them extremely hard. He did that for a while until he thought that wasn’t working.
He then progressed to putting them in the tub with the shower running, an idea he got from his coworker friend. Sometimes he would hold their neck under water to try and prove a point. Once, he thought that he went too far with Dory because she wasn’t moving for a bit. And to top it off, he would put a leash on them, tie them to the spout to make sure they couldn’t get out and leave them in there soaked and wet for days.
When he would vacuum, Dory would be scared of the noise and try to get away. Instead, he would put the leash on, tie her and then run the vacuum over her or use the extension to poke her with it while it was on.
I hated this so much. I would cry whenever he did this to the animals because I knew it wasn’t right. Their cry was too much for me to bear. There were times when I would confront him about how he treated them. He would just yell at me and say, “you don’t get it, do you, stupid bitch?” and just keep on torturing them.
One day, he called me at work. He told me that Dory had broken her arm. I was so confused about how that happened. I asked him and told me that he went home because he didn’t want to go “number two” at work. When he got home, he noticed one of the cats crying and found Dory behind the couch. He picked me up and we went straight to the Pet Hospital. A few hours and over a thousand dollars later, we got home. What I didn’t get was that he said that she was behind a couch stuck which is how she broke her arm. It was weird that both of them were turned over. I just couldn’t understand while I ran the story in my head over and over. It just didn’t make sense to me.
Over time, I noticed that he would tend to punish Dory more than Nemo. He would often say that Nemo was more obedient than Dory because when it was time for them to get spanked, Nemo would sit still and take it. Whereas, Dory would fight him—so much so, that he would often get scratch marks from her.
My abuser’s fuse was getting shorter and shorter particularly with Dory. There were times when Dory would just stare at him. He would get so angry and punish her. When I would ask what she did, he would just say, “I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.” I thought that was the most bizarre and craziest thing I’ve ever heard and witnessed.
One day, he started calling Dory a bitch when he would piss him off. That is when it all clicked—I had my epiphany. The fact that Dory was a female was the problem. He hated his mother, despised his sister, abuse me in every way and tortured the female cat. The only female that he said he ever cared for was his grandmother, but even then, he would complain about her conniving and malicious attitude. He admitted that he called her a bitch to her face once.
As soon as I realized this, I went to the bathroom, sat on the floor and cried. All I could say was “f*ck” over and over again. I knew I was trapped and had no idea how the hell I was going to get out. My heart was aching more and more as I realized that I was never going to be able to get out of this—at least not alive because of the fact that he would threaten to kill me and then shoot himself if I ever did leave. I was never going to be the same, never be able to grow and flourish like I wanted to and was trapped in hell.