Rescue Tails: Lulu Belle
Blog by Anita Driessen
The cat who chose me
I was visiting one of my besties up in Humboldt County, and before I even got there, I already knew:
I wanted a cat.
I was living in San Francisco at the time, and my apartment allowed a pet, so I was fully committed. Gung ho. Ready. This was happening.
The plan was simple—
visit my friend, swing by a local shelter, come home with a sweet little kitten.
So organized.
The Grab
We went to the shelter—small, impeccably clean, the kind of place you instantly trust.
I was in for a kitten, but there weren’t many. So I wandered.
I came upon a room they were cleaning—
all the cat kennels were stacked on top of each other, and it was hard to see anything clearly inside them. As I walked around, I remember thinking…
I don’t think she’s here…
And then—
a grey paw shot out from the bottom of the stack
and grabbed my pant leg.
Claws fully committed. No hesitation.
I stopped.
Well… okay then.
Enter Lulu
I asked the volunteer if I could see the cat that had just aggressively claimed me.
Her claws were still attached to my pants, by the way.
After we gently… negotiated her release,
they opened the kennel and pulled her out.
And I swear—
she was the most ENORMOUS cat I had ever seen.
Twenty-three pounds of fluff and presence.
Round and grey like a thundercloud.
Heavy like a kettlebell.
A full-on Norwegian Forest Cat in all her glory.
Her meow?
Like a proper lady in lace, serving cookies to guests.
Her personality?
More like Hecate —
goddess of magic, crossroads, and absolutely not to be messed with.
And I knew immediately:
She was mine.
The Backstory
She had been left in a closed box in front of the shelter.
(I know. I know. Who does that??)
But the volunteers and vet techs stepped in and made her their own. Loved her, cared for her, protected her.
And let me tell you—
they did not just hand her over.
I had to jump through many hoops.
Which, honestly?
Green flag. Huge green flag. I love a protective shelter.
Eventually, I passed.
And just like that…
we were off.
Naming a Thundercloud
I named her Lulu Belle.
Because her meow sounded so sweet—
and she was.
also because she was this giant, smoky grey cloud of a creature, with the daintiest, prettiest little feet you’ve ever seen.
If Lulu were a real person, I always pictured her as a petite, very round woman—impeccably dressed, tiny feet pedicured to perfection.
And also… a surprisingly good dancer.
And Then… Reality
What I didn’t know—
what no one warned me about—
was that her glorious, magnificent girth made it a little… difficult… for her to clean herself properly.
And that’s when it began.
The era.
The legend.
The battle of—
demon poops.
The Demon Poops Era
So.
Lulu was a curvy girl.
Hair like smoke and cobwebs—beautiful, soft, and would catch anything.
And this sweet kitty?
She didn’t fear the litterbox.
She feared…
her poop.
Every. single. time. she pooped—
she would RUN across the apartment like the devil was chasing her.
Not a casual exit.
A full sprint.
Then circle.
And circle.
And circle.
The first time this happened, I ran to her thinking,
Is she on fire??
Like truly—what is happening here?
But she wasn’t-no fire, just poop fear.
Figuring It Out
Over time, a lot of time and cleaning and calm, we figured it out.
We managed her weight. (Makes one of us.)
We worked through the anxiety around the poop demons. (I talked to her a lot about it).
We learned her signs before the full sprint across the apartment would begin.
It wasn’t perfect—but it got better.
The Exorcism
And then we moved down to San Diego.
And I don’t know what shifted—
the air, the energy, the space—
but just like that…
the problem was solved.
The demons?
Exorcised.
Gone.
Lulu, Fully Herself
She was still Lulu—
a walking thundercloud, soft and massive and somehow still dainty.
Sweet as can be…
with just enough chaos to keep things interesting.
And honestly?
That whole funny, dramatic, slightly unhinged chapter…
was just part of loving her.
The Truth About Rescue
what I thought I was going to “get”…
ended up being something that rearranged me.
Even if part of that rearranging involved…
a lot of poop cleanup.
I’m not saying I’m an expert—
but I could’ve taught a master class.
But honestly, sometimes you go looking for something…
And instead—
a cat reaches out from the dark, grabs your pant leg, and says:
I’m yours.
And by the end of it all…
you realize—
you were hers.
