A couple of months ago, our wonderful cat, Lacey, died. I’ve had a lot of cats in my life, and this loss was the biggest–I don’t remember ever missing another cat quite so much after they were gone. So I “knew” it would be a bit before I/we’d be ready to bring another cat into our homes, and–as I do–I made a plan. We have a lot of traveling to do, little short trips, in the next 4-5 months, so I said…okay, no new kitty until Spring. The guys–as they do when it comes to pet questions–agreed with me.
BUT…Missing Lacey so much has translated into just missing having a cat around. Maybe it’s because we’re in Autumn, with Winter coming right around the corner. I mean, Winter. You’re supposed to have a cat on your lap, right? When my husband added a set of cupboards and little shelves along one kitchen wall, a few years ago, he set the bottom shelf “Lacey-high” above the floor, because that’s where one of the heater vents is, and, obviously, Lacey needed to be able to curl up under that shelf. Which she did.
That heater vent is being completely wasted right now.
So, I said to the guys, “Spring, Schming. Right after Thanksgiving, we’re going to the kitty shelter. We’re going to sit down in the kitty room and see who adopts us. And we’re going to bring that kitty home.” The guys…agreed.
But here’s the thing. I have never, never, NEVER gone and got a cat. I counted up the other day, and in the 18 years before I left my parents’ home, I was part-owner and co-habitor with at least twelve cats. Here’s the list (Siblings, feel free to add more in the comments if I’ve forgotten anyone!): Henry, Moses, Tommy, Freddy, Frankie, Callie, Flopsy, Mopsy (Later renamed Lily), Cottontail, Peter, Rye Krisp, Rocky Road (We got tired of my parents naming every pet we had with an -ie or -y ending name!) Dog friends, don’t get worried, we had four dogs in that time (Five? Can’t remember when they got Patrick the Chihuahua, no comments, please!), a couple of canaries, a guinea pig, and I believe a couple of salamanders. And fish.
We bought the canaries and the guinea pig, I think. There may have been some small amount of money exchanged for the first three dogs. But cats? My parents were veterinarians with their own vet hospital. Cats came to them. To us. Pick out a cat? Unheard of.
When I met my husband, he’d had two cats, both of whom had also come to him. Cat (I know!) and Fred. Fred was still around when I showed up, and he was an awesomely cranky cat who actually liked me: Bonus points with the then-boyfriend!
And Lacey found us. She showed up one day in the front yard of our mountain home–clean, well-fed, cuddly, not in the least bit feral, and she climbed into my son’s five-year-old lap and stayed there. My husband says that maybe, if we wait, another clean, well-fed, cuddly, not in the least bit feral cat will show up. I say, no, I’m pretty sure that was Lacey Magic.
So we will go to the shelter and pick out a cat.
Do you know HOW MANY CATS will be at that shelter? It’ll be like this:
I really, really, really want just one cat. We are a very good one-cat family. I know, I know, and I’m not standing on a box and shouting “NO!” to two cats, but still, how in the world do you pick?! How do you walk out with one fuzzball under your arm and leave the others behind?
Tips? Suggestions? Awesome stories? The comments are yours!