We Are Three Again - Democratic Underground

TygrBright

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Sun Jul-24-11 05:43 PM
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We Are Three Again

(Note: In early March, The World's Most Irritable Cat, about whom I've occasionally posted on DU, took the Last Road after 18 years of keeping us, his devoted staff, firmly in line, and being hoovered daily. We miss him terribly. But it was finally time...)

The Concept: Get a new kitty. Preferably one that won’t hiss at everyone, attack unprotected flesh, shove his water dish (and water) all over the floor, and appropriate and relocate random household objects. A nice kitty, this time.

The Plan: Go to the shelter. Look for a kitty about 1-3 years old. Calm temperament, likes humans. Well socialized, but adapted to being an only cat. Boycat. Short-haired or at most, medium (Bright has a mild allergy.) Preferably orange, since we have been indelibly imprinted with the idea that Orange Kitties Are Superior Beings, but not a hard preference. Any color, really.

How it Actually Went Down:
We go to the shelter Friday. Nice volunteer lady at the desk. “Look around all you like, but if you want to actually meet a cat, get one of the volunteers to bring it to you.”

The shelter, by the way, is beautiful. Much space, immaculately clean, every crate and room has toys and bedding and food and water, all fresh-looking. Much love, many staff and volunteers. Bravo, shelter. Bravo, staff and volunteers. Bravo, people who give money and other support.

So we look around the kitty area. There are not actually a lot of short-haired boycats in the age range we are looking for. There are a couple of gray longhairs. And a really handsome brown tabby-stripe boy with elegant white gloves and shirt front, but he is characterized as “a little difficult. Anti-social.” We hope he finds a wonderful home, as we know just how easily a “difficult” kitty can worm his way into the hearts of his staff. But he is not our kitty.

We do notice they have an awful lot of one kind of kitty, though: Kittens. Kittens, kittens, kittens… It has been a banner year at the shelter for people dropping off litters of kittens. They have kittens coming out their ears. Of course, we’re not looking for a kitten, but we peer into a few of the kitten enclosures anyway.

Mistake, mistake, total mistake…

Adult cats mostly have their own crates. Kittens are in small enclosures with (presumably) litter mates and a couple of adult cats. The enclosures include cat towers, comfy nest-type beds, etc. Most of the kittens are around 12-16 weeks old. At that age, they still retain a lot of wide-eyed, bat-eared, kewtitude. The squee factor is overwhelming. In two of the enclosures, there are orange boys. A pair in each, along with other baby kitties and the adults.

We talk to the volunteer. The first pair, Rico and Falley, are characterized as “outgoing and active.” The other two, Leonard and Lou, are characterized as “more reticent, a little shy.” But Leonard, the volunteer adds, is “really cool, ‘cause he has so many toes!”

In a small room with a chair and a fishing-pole type cat toy, Rico and Falley bounce around and sniff Bright’s purse, the chair legs, The World’s Most Wonderful Human Being’s shoes, and make bats at the cat toy. They allow some petting, but mostly want to squirm and climb and do all the things kittens do. They are cute. We hope they find wonderful homes. But neither is our kitty.

We wander back to look at the other two, while the volunteer returns Rico and Falley to their littermates. Leonard is eating. Where is Lou? Peering into the enclosure, we can see a tiny expanse of orange fur barely visible in a pile of sleeping kitties on the top dish of the cat tower.

While we look around a little more, a lady with a little girl comes and asks to look at Leonard. Good luck, Leonard!

We ask the volunteer to bring us Lou.

“Here he is.” She brings him to us a few minutes later. “He’s a real nurturer. He lets the other kittens suckle on him, that’s why his fur is a little wet.” She has obviously had to slide him out from under a pile of others; he’s a little dazed-looking.

Lou sniffs around a little bit, and displays no objection to being lifted to Bright’s lap.

“Now what? People, sheesh… Well, at least they’re not trying to suckle on the nipples I don’t have… Hey, wait… what’s this? Pets! Mmmmm… good pets. Mmmmmmmm… Oh, that’s nice. Do that some more. Oh, very good. Now maybe if I just stay very still here, the pets will continue… Oh, yeah… oh, yeah, baby, more of that. Just right. PURRRRRRRRRRR…..”

The World’s Most Wonderful Human Being slips quietly out of the room to inform the volunteer that Lou has found his staff.

Within twenty-four hours, it became clear that “Lou” is actually an abbreviation for “BABALUUUUU!!” We had forgotten just how much energy a kitten has. Also known as “Louie” or “Spud” or “Hey you!,” Lou has learned many things about us, and we have learned a few about him.

“Did you know that people houses are BIG? They’re HUGE! And just full of cool little places to hide! And no one sleeps on top of you!”

Louie has a little cold. They showed us his medical records (clean bill of health generally) and assured us it will likely go away on its own, but we should bring him back for medicine if it doesn’t go away in a few days. In the mean time, he occasionally stops what he’s doing, right in the middle, gets a funny look on his face, and then lets out an adorable baby-sized sneeze that occasionally knocks him off his (gigantic) feet.

“I’ve just about got this place sussed, now. Litterbox, check. Cool water fountain to drink from. Noms—GOOD noms! in the dish right next to it, check. Neat nest-like kitty bed in the office, convenient for afternoon napping and keeping an eye on the humans, check.”

The polydactyl gene that fully expressed in brother Leonard is obviously present in Louie. His feet are sized for four or five extra toes each. If he were a horse, he’d be a Clydesdale. If he grows into those feet, we may have a hard time keeping him in cat food.

“Still all kinds of weird stuff and scary noises here, though. Fortunately Mom is Right There when the rumbly crackle thundery noise happens! Dang! Dad is much better to hang around with when Mom is fighting the Big Red Roaring Dragon.”

Louie does not like the hoover. Oh, well… maybe someday…

devotedly,
Bright