Balancing Act
The Cat Adoption
It hit me one day while I was padding around my house: what we need is a cat. I realized, of course, that adopting a pet is a big responsibility, and there needed to be a lot of thought and discussion between my son and me before actually going ahead with it.
Fast forward 10 seconds: "Hey, Jess, want to get a cat? Yeah? Let’s go."
It turned out that PetSmart was hosting a cat adopt-a-thon in conjunction with the Tazewell Animal Protective Society (TAPS), so we drove right over. There were several dozen cages lined up, offering a variety of cats in every shape and size. Jesse and I had three criteria: we wanted a spayed, female, short-hair (with my long hair, I shed enough without adding a long-haired cat into the mix).
Probably three-fourths of the available cats fit that description, so we just took our time and looked around. A large gray cat caught my son’s eye, so one of the very kind TAPS volunteers hauled it out for his inspection. Jesse was lovingly offering his hand for a sniff when the cat hissed, swiped at his face with claws a-flashing, and in general had a ticked off look about her.
We decided to keep shopping.
Eventually we spotted a cat that we both instantly fell in love with; fortunately, this time the love was reciprocated. The final deciding factor for me was that she fit in with my nearly all-black wardrobe. She has black fur with patches of gold-or as my son describes it, "She looks like someone sprinkled gold dust on her." However you want to say it, the important thing is that the cat fur will be well disguised on my clothes.
Once we had decided, I started the adoption process, which literally took half an hour. There was far more involved in getting TAPS to release this cat than for the hospital to release my infant son.
At one point in this adoption process, a volunteer came over to me and asked, "Now, has anyone talked to you about this particular cat?" Um, no.
"Well," said the volunteer carefully, "she has litter box issues."
I told her that on the cage it very specifically stated that this cat was litter box trained. The volunteer said that was true most of the time, but the cat "missed" sometimes, which was why she was dropped off at the shelter in the first place. I filed this information in the would-have-been-good-to-know-a-few-minutes-ago category.
One of the forms you have to fill out when you adopt a cat says that the adoption fee (which covers shots, neutering, and other care the cat has already had) is non-refundable. No exceptions. The volunteer said in my case, however, they would make an exception. If I wanted to bring the cat back, I could choose another one and not have to pay an adoption fee.
Being the only exception to this particular rule did not inspire confidence.
I recounted all of this to my son, who was falling more in love with the cat by the minute. I said that we could go ahead and take the cat home and risk that we may have to bring her back if she "missed" very often, or we could choose another cat right now. Naturally, he opted to take a chance on the cat with issues.
It turned out that Jesse had good instincts, though. Jazz, as we eventually named our new friend, has never once missed her litter box. In fact, she’s pretty close to perfect.
I had resisted getting a cat for so long because my parents have a 17-year-old cat, Molly, who’s an absolute nightmare. She hisses, she bites, she swats at the dogs (who avoid her like the plague), and she hates to be petted. Friends are constantly surprised that this cat is still alive. But as my co-worker, Stephanie, says, "Heaven doesn’t want her, and the devil doesn’t want the competition."
Jazz is different, though. She constantly purrs with contentment and meows if she isn’t being stroked enough. The only problem with Jazz is that she’s a licker. That doesn’t sound like a problem unless it’s midnight, and she’s licking your nose. Or it’s 2 a.m., and she’s licking your mouth. Or it’s 4 a.m., and she’s licking your eyelid. She licks various parts of my face throughout the night, and I’m always too groggy to do anything but groan and hope she stops soon.
I typed in "cat licking owner" on the Internet to see if there’s anything I can do about the situation. It turns out cats either stop licking their owners at some point or they don’t. Very helpful.
In the meantime, I’ll try to be content with the fact that she’s a licker, and not a misser. TPW
Fast forward 10 seconds: "Hey, Jess, want to get a cat? Yeah? Let’s go."
It turned out that PetSmart was hosting a cat adopt-a-thon in conjunction with the Tazewell Animal Protective Society (TAPS), so we drove right over. There were several dozen cages lined up, offering a variety of cats in every shape and size. Jesse and I had three criteria: we wanted a spayed, female, short-hair (with my long hair, I shed enough without adding a long-haired cat into the mix).
Probably three-fourths of the available cats fit that description, so we just took our time and looked around. A large gray cat caught my son’s eye, so one of the very kind TAPS volunteers hauled it out for his inspection. Jesse was lovingly offering his hand for a sniff when the cat hissed, swiped at his face with claws a-flashing, and in general had a ticked off look about her.
We decided to keep shopping.
Eventually we spotted a cat that we both instantly fell in love with; fortunately, this time the love was reciprocated. The final deciding factor for me was that she fit in with my nearly all-black wardrobe. She has black fur with patches of gold-or as my son describes it, "She looks like someone sprinkled gold dust on her." However you want to say it, the important thing is that the cat fur will be well disguised on my clothes.
Once we had decided, I started the adoption process, which literally took half an hour. There was far more involved in getting TAPS to release this cat than for the hospital to release my infant son.
At one point in this adoption process, a volunteer came over to me and asked, "Now, has anyone talked to you about this particular cat?" Um, no.
"Well," said the volunteer carefully, "she has litter box issues."
I told her that on the cage it very specifically stated that this cat was litter box trained. The volunteer said that was true most of the time, but the cat "missed" sometimes, which was why she was dropped off at the shelter in the first place. I filed this information in the would-have-been-good-to-know-a-few-minutes-ago category.
One of the forms you have to fill out when you adopt a cat says that the adoption fee (which covers shots, neutering, and other care the cat has already had) is non-refundable. No exceptions. The volunteer said in my case, however, they would make an exception. If I wanted to bring the cat back, I could choose another one and not have to pay an adoption fee.
Being the only exception to this particular rule did not inspire confidence.
I recounted all of this to my son, who was falling more in love with the cat by the minute. I said that we could go ahead and take the cat home and risk that we may have to bring her back if she "missed" very often, or we could choose another cat right now. Naturally, he opted to take a chance on the cat with issues.
It turned out that Jesse had good instincts, though. Jazz, as we eventually named our new friend, has never once missed her litter box. In fact, she’s pretty close to perfect.
I had resisted getting a cat for so long because my parents have a 17-year-old cat, Molly, who’s an absolute nightmare. She hisses, she bites, she swats at the dogs (who avoid her like the plague), and she hates to be petted. Friends are constantly surprised that this cat is still alive. But as my co-worker, Stephanie, says, "Heaven doesn’t want her, and the devil doesn’t want the competition."
Jazz is different, though. She constantly purrs with contentment and meows if she isn’t being stroked enough. The only problem with Jazz is that she’s a licker. That doesn’t sound like a problem unless it’s midnight, and she’s licking your nose. Or it’s 2 a.m., and she’s licking your mouth. Or it’s 4 a.m., and she’s licking your eyelid. She licks various parts of my face throughout the night, and I’m always too groggy to do anything but groan and hope she stops soon.
I typed in "cat licking owner" on the Internet to see if there’s anything I can do about the situation. It turns out cats either stop licking their owners at some point or they don’t. Very helpful.
In the meantime, I’ll try to be content with the fact that she’s a licker, and not a misser. TPW