So... It Has Come to This...

Yep.  We got a cat.  

Here's the situation.  The wife is allergic to pet hair and/or dander and her symptoms vary quite a bit depending on the duration and the dosage.  In a clean, open house for a couple of hours where there is a cat or dog - no worries.  A closed-off area with multiple animals (pet store, shelter, etc.) is more of a problem but OTC medication can handle that for a while.  However, if you own more furry animals than you have, say, soup spoons there isn't enough Claritin in the world where she can come within fifty yards of you... Not that your primary issue is "too many hangers-about", anyway. 

So the allergies were the "immovable object" in the way of getting a pet. All the other reasons, though valid, were negotiable in one way or another.

The "irresistible force" in this case were the relentlessly consistent requests from the boy to get a cat.  Oh, this wasn't a never-ending whiny pleasepleaseplease-fest - that would have resulted in no-cat-ever-ever-ever.  Since he turned two, he had requested a pet from any magical spirits who are known for their ability to grant wishes - Santa, coin-filled fountains, extinguished birthday candles, etc. Occasionally, he would insert his wish into mealtime or nighttime prayers. I’m guessing it averaged out to maybe one request every three months or so. 

The rarity of the requests combined with the constancy of them was tough to hear. The fact he had clearly made peace with the fact it was probably never going to happen was, frankly, heartbreaking. His demeanor was "I'm cool with never getting one, but it doesn't hurt to try". This is the same attitude most of us have when we go to buy lottery tickets. We know it's very nearly pointless... But maybe, just maybe it isn't. 

In this way the immovable object was completely obliterated. The wife was very accepting of this fact. 

She rocks.

So where to get one?  At first, I thought it would be pretty easy. I mean, it's a kitten, not a zebra or a dolphin or something. But it seems that boxes labeled "FREE KITTENS" have gone the way of the lemonade stand.  Dealing with the Crazy Cat Lady at work (there's always one) is a non-starter unless you relish the idea of enduring Torquemada-style Q&A sessions about your fitness as a pet owner, complete with site visits (yep...). Pet stores here don't carry non-specialty felines. 

So Animal Shelter it was. I went on a Saturday to do a little recon so I could get a good idea of what they had in stock (I had never been to one before).  Because I'm ever-so-wacky, I was toying with the idea of walking in, looking around, and answering the inevitable "Can I help you?" with "Well, the wife and I were thinking of grilling out tonight..." and letting the sentence simply hang there. 

I didn't do that. I could see immediately upon walking in that the people who work there are some dour, dour folks and would have had little to no appreciation for my unique brand of relentless zaniness. I can dig it. These people probably see some pretty screwed up stuff on a daily basis so they have every right in the world to regard anyone who walks through the door with a certain amount of suspicion.  They certainly didn't need this guy throwing confetti around and dousing them with seltzer water, as it were. 

The shelter was clean and spacious, the animals seemed healthy and friendly, and the people there were professional, courteous, and patient with my idiotic questions.   They told me all the animals were either spayed or neutered (that's good), the cats were all litterbox trained (even better!) and that most of the cats have had been checked for feline leukemia and AIDS (Jeebus!  Those are things!? Man, it's a miracle anything on this stupid planet is alive.).

I thanked them and told them I might be back the next day. 

The next day, after clearing it one last time with the wife, we all piled into the car. About ten minutes into the twenty-minute ride the five-year-old piped up and said "This isn't the way to Wal-Mart."

"Yeah, I know. We have to go to a different store first," I replied. 

"A toy store?" He asked hopefully. "No, dude. Just a different kind of store,” I replied.

We pulled up and got out. He stared at the sign for a bit and asked "Animal shelter? Why are we at an animal shelter?"  I said "C'mon... Let's go in."

The folks who worked there smiled in recognition as I came in and I put my finger to my lips. They nodded and the boy and I walked into the room with all the cats. He looked around with an expression I don't think I have ever seen on another person's face before just then. It was a combination of hopefulness, trepidation, shock, love, and a tiny bit of the special dread we all get the microsecond we realize our alarm clock is trying to shake us out of a wonderful, wonderful dream and dump us back into the real world.

"Ok. Choose." I said. 

"REALLY?!?!" he screeched, happy beyond measure. "I can really have one?"

"Yep. Any one you want."

"And I can bring him home today?", he added, unnecessarily suspiciously, in my opinion. 

I nodded. 

After a bit of walking from one cage to the next looking at his potential buddy-to-be he asked "Do you think..."

"No. Just one," I said, smiling.  He smiled back. We know each other well. 

Eventually he settled on a little 4-month-old orange and white one of absolutely no pedigree whatsoever.  Awesome. 

The lady behind the desk placed the cat into its carrier and started telling the boy about how to take care of a cat. "Remember, you need to feed him and give him fresh water once a day."  Our son nodded happily and said "Yeah! We don't want to happen to the cat what happened to the birds!"

My eyes popped and my jaw dropped and I just stared at him in horrified disbelief. All sound halted and the lady behind the desk locked eyes with me. After the longest two seconds ever she said "Oh. These were outdoor birds, right?"  I said "Oh, God, yes. Of course. We built a bird feeder a long time ago, you see. We ran out of seed eventually, and... And we just never refilled it.  I mean, he knows that outdoor birds get their food from all sorts of places..." All the while my brain is screaming "DUDE! What the hell is the matter with you!?!"

Satisfied our house wasn't replete with cages upon cages filled with the desiccated remains of a thousand luckless budgies,  we were allowed to leave with the cat.

We got it home and I retrieved the supplies I had hidden in the garage earlier that morning - food, scratching posts, toys, litter box... You know - cat stuff.  We opened the carrier slowly and it hopped out, utterly shocked. After I showed him where the litterbox was, he ran and hid under a recliner. 

We didn't see much of him over the next two days but the food dish was emptying as expected, and the litterbox was filling as prayed for. 

His shyness was eventually bribed away with treats and now Rocket (because he's fast like a rocket, see) has run of the place with the exception of the bedrooms on the second floor. He sits like a sphinx each night outside the closed hallway door, dutifully keeping watch over his new family ensuring we all sleep well...

Until about 4:45AM, that is, cuz, damn, people, enough's enough, come pet me or somethin' I'm boooooored!  MEOW MEOW MEEEOOOW MEOOWW Oh wow,… This foyer is super echo-y! Delightful! MEOOWWERR! MEOW! MEEOOOWWWW! yep any minute now I'll be rewarded with food and petting... MEOW! MEOOOWWW...