The Reluctant Cat Fancier
Despite the occasional histrionic, felinophilic outburst, I’ve never been much of a cat person. Lola and I maintain a shaky truce, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that she’s warmly affectionate toward me. Not even affectionate, really. Hell, between you and me, I think she’s pretty self-centered. But then, I suppose that’s the way of the cat….
Anyway, given all that, and given everthing else I’ve got going on in my life–a boyfriend jet-setting around the country, a 150+ year old house to fix up, some extracurricular theatrical endeavors, and the rebuilding of an entire city (though I’m getting some help with that one)–the last thing I need in my life is another freakin’ cat, n’est-ce pas?
Enter cat, stage left.
So, it’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m cleaning up the house, right? (Truth be told, I have to clean up the house every afternoon now that we’re in shedding season.) I’m cleaning up, and I step out the side door onto the porch, and there’s Tania with something in her mouth–something gray and limp and fuzzy. What the hell is it? A rat? A bat? Great. I’ve always wondered what having rabies would feel like…. I shout, “Drop it!” and sure enough, Tania does so–rather delicately, in fact.
I step off the porch and take a closer look at the lump. It’s moving. Kinda. No wings–that’s a good sign. And the tail’s too short for a rat… Then I make out the face: it’s a cat. Well, a kitten to be precise. Maybe three or four weeks old. Not much bigger than my hand. See:
So I put it in a box with a couple of towels, then I run off to the pet store, where I drop more change than expected on some smaller-than-pint-sized baby bottles and a can of powdered cat formula. Who knew they made cat formula?
Of course, Jonno–being the secret softie that he is–now wants to keep the cat. And Tania’s very protective of her, trying to nuzzle up to her every time I feed her. I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. Am I destined to become a crazy cat lady?
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