The Cat That Took Me to Dublin

When people ask why I picked Dublin for my summer holiday, they're expecting something about the pubs, the history, maybe how easy it is to hop over to the rest of Europe from there. The real answer starts with a Facebook post about a kitten.

Almost two years ago, I stumbled across a post on an adoption group from a young couple trying to rehome their cat. They'd moved from Ireland to Vancouver, but life had other plans, and they had to move back home much sooner than they'd expected. It was a heartbreaking decision, but they felt their cat would be better off staying in Canada than going through a big international move.

That's how Helvetica ended up in my life.

When I adopted her, I told them we should keep in touch. Nothing formal, just the odd message or photo now and then. And that's what we did. Every couple of months I'd send a picture of her curled up in some new favourite spot, or her former family would dig up an old one from when she was still tiny and I hadn't met her yet. They got to watch her grow up from across an ocean.

Somewhere along the way, it made me chuckle to think that these occasional check-ins came together by how much we all loved one very sassy and opinionated cat.

Then, earlier this year, they commented on a photo of her and said how much they still missed her. I happened to be thinking about a summer trip around the same time, and before I'd really thought it through, I typed out something a little ridiculous:

"What if we swapped homes?"

I'd stay in their flat in Dublin. They'd stay in my place just outside Vancouver.

I honestly expected them to laugh it off. Instead, they said yes.

Helvetica asleep on a bed

More than a swap

People do home exchanges all the time, usually through some website with a matching system and a stack of reviews. This wasn't that.

Ours was built on two years of little updates, a growing trust, and the shared soft spot for a cat.

Walking into the Dublin flat felt more like being handed the keys to someone's actual life than staying in a usual travel accommodation. I bought groceries at the corner shop instead of wherever the guidebooks send you. I found out which café the neighbours actually go to, not the one with the queue out the door. I wandered streets I never would have found if I'd been following a tourist map, and got to see the city the way someone who lives there sees it.

Back in Vancouver, they were doing the reverse, settling back into a neighbourhood they remember fondly, spending real time with Helvetica, and watching this kitten they'd said goodbye to turn into a full-grown cat with very strong opinions about sticky notes and being allowed to eat blueberries. There was something quietly perfect about that.

Why this matters

In this line of work, we talk about relationships constantly.

Client relationships, media relationships, that person you met once at a conference and now enjoy virtual coffee with twice a year.

This one started because two strangers needed help finding their young cat a good home and because none of us decided that was where the story had to end. I don't think this is really a story about a trip to Ireland. It's about what can happen when you don't let one transaction be the whole relationship.

A cat adoption turned into a friendship. A friendship turned into an invitation. And that invitation turned into one of the best trips I've ever taken. It's a good reminder that closeness isn't really about how often you talk. Sometimes it's built in the in-between (a photo here, a message there) until one day you look up and realise you've built something real. You just never know where a simple "let's keep in touch" is going to take you.

Helvetica lying down in her hammock