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It was the summer, and I had just graduated from undergrad and was waiting to start graduate school in August. For the first time in my life, I would be living alone, and I wasn't thrilled by the idea.

I knew which animal I wanted from a rescue group based out of a local pet store. I marched to the store determined to adopt her with my own money. She was gone... adopted an hour before I got there.

Feeling dejected, I sat down in front of the other cages to ponder my next move. I watched a group of kittens running around their cage. A black and tan tabby caught my eye. His name was Junior. I asked the volunteer if I could see him, and she yanked him out of the cage and practically chucked him at me.

He sunk his claws into my shoulder. In that moment, as he clung to me for dear life, I knew he was my cat. I took him home and started to think of a new name for him.

That night while I was asleep, he wrestled an old foam viking hat from my childhood off a shelf and demolished it. I knew his name had to be something Norse. Later that afternoon, he developed an eye infection, cold, and worms, so off to the vet we went. I decided his eye swelling shut was a sign to name him Odin after the Norse god of poetry and war. His nickname was "Old One Eye".

Odin has been my constant companion these five years. He's a giant 15-pounder who loves to chew on foam flip flops and play with dogs. He's more of a lover than a fighter, so I say he's the poetry side of the god.

Odin adores and is adored by my boyfriend and me. One of the things that brought us together was the fact that I had a cat named after the King of the Gods.