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I was filling out the intake form to rehome my 'destructive' cat when the shelter volunteer said something that stopped me cold. "When did she last have a full night's sleep?" I just stared at her, pen frozen over the surrender paperwork where I'd already written Luna's age: 3 years old. Eight months ago, Luna was the perfect companion. Then we downsized to a smaller apartment, and everything unraveled. It started with the leather ottoman. Just small scratches I'd notice in the morning light. Then the kitchen chairs. Every single one, methodically destroyed from the legs up. The final straw was coming home to find my grandfather's recliner – irreplaceable, priceless to me – with its side completely shredded, batting scattered across the floor like snow. I became desperate. Installed every scratching post Amazon recommended. Vertical, horizontal, angled. Luna would walk past them like they didn't exist. The deterrent sprays made my apartment smell like a chemical factory. Luna kept scratching. Those plastic nail caps? She'd chew them off within hours. I even hired a cat behaviorist for $200. Her advice? "Try more interactive play." I was already playing with Luna for an hour every day. Still, nothing changed. My sister visited for Thanksgiving and surveyed the damage. "Maybe some cats just can't be indoor cats," she said gently, avoiding my eyes. That night I found myself searching "when to know it's time to rehome your cat" at 2 AM. The shame was crushing. I'd rescued Luna as a scared 8-week-old kitten. Promised her forever. But I was spending hundreds on furniture repairs while living in constant anxiety about what I'd find destroyed next. Which brought me to the shelter on December 2nd, 3:15 PM according to my phone. The volunteer – Janet, her badge said – was reviewing my intake form when she asked about Luna's sleep patterns. "She sleeps... I mean, normal amounts? I think?" Janet put down her clipboard. "Cats who destroy furniture this aggress
