So we obtained a cat last week. We went to the animal shelter and we were all like “Cat: give us one,” and they made us walk through about a thousand kittens, and the volunteers they would pick up these tiny mewling balls of fluff and hurl them at us and sometimes they would stick and sometimes not and then there were all these kittens at our feet, shrieking and furious, or unconscious, and we fought our way through and demanded to see an older cat, something that wasn’t stupid.
So you go around and here are all the cats, and they all live in three-foot-wide jail cells. Two-story jail cells, but still, prison. And they’re nice cats. Some are fat. Some are sleeping. You wave at them: wake up! You’re missing your chance here, pal! They’re not moved one way or the other. And in one of the little cubicles here is this one cat, and she is pretty, a tortoiseshell, and mouthy, and pacing back and forth like a tiger and screaming at us, which we would later understand to mean I AM IN NEED OF AN ACTION! PLEASE PERFORM IT NOW! NOW! Scritched her on the head and played with her nextdoor neighbor, an acrobatic daredevil who did a nosedive into her cage while jumping for my finger. Then I met a kitten that turned out to be named Spock, and I thought, I don’t really want a kitten, but it is called Spock; its ears are extra large and they named it Spock. I think I was meant to have this cat. We waited until the next day and came back, certain we would get this Spock kitty and bring him home.
He had already been adopted. Which was good, because now I didn’t have to worry about a homeless kitty named Spock. But, still. We are down one cat. Back to the cubicles we go. How about this big fat guy called Mr. Big? He’s old and cranky, so of course you want him. They put us in a room and bring him in, and he plops down and doesn’t move. Pet him and he snarls. Only moves his front paws. Not happy. “He’s got pretty bad arthritis,” says the volunteer. We all make sad faces at each other, and decide an angry cat with arthritis is probably more than we can take on right now. “How about that tortie you call Mia?” I ask. The volunteer says go in the other room; I will bring her to you.