Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Meet Emma

On Saturday, we adopted a new cat, Emma.  Here's a pic:

What do you mean, you can't see her?


We managed to adopt an invisible, six-year old cat.

When I say "we," I mean to say, "E."

We had good intentions.  I had good intentions.  I took some time off on Friday to go to the local animal shelters and scout out animals.

Wait.  I'm making this sound all rational.  The truth is, I needed an animal to fill the hole left by Prudence and Sadie and I was hell-bent on filling that hole this weekend.  So sue me.  It's why most of us get pets, duh.  They make us feel better.

The problem was, we hadn't really decided what to get, pet-wise.  Or how many to get.  I was thinking a cat.  Or two.  Or two kittens, maybe.  Yes, two kittens.  Or maybe a dog and a cat.  Or just a dog.  Or maybe a puppy, though that sounded like a lot of work.  I raised these possibilities to E. and got little more than a grunt.

I learned at therapy last night that this does not necessarily mean E. is on board.  He learned that he has to do more than grunt if he wants to prevent me from steamrolling processes like these.

You'll remember, too, that we already have Milo.  And having him is like having a drooling baby camel following you around all day, trying to get into your lap.  He's in the mix, obviously.

Anyway, I played around with all the combinations and identified what I thought were some suitable candidates.  I took the girls around after school to meet all of them, and there was general agreement that we had a good batch.  The plan was that Saturday morning all four of us would go around again and make the decision.  I wanted E.'s input and buy-in and he (reluctantly, I see now) seemed with the plan.

Unfortunately, a stupider, more cockamamie plan was never hatched.

First, I woke up with a quarterly superperiod.  Weepy, temperamental, scatter-brained.  Should have just gone back to bed for a few more hours.

Second, E. woke up grumpy.  He had a conflict with the girls before we even got out the door which I will not describe in detail here, but you might imagine:  Kurt Cobain + hotel room + smashed instrument.  Really.

Third, the girls are always whiny on Saturday mornings.  They've been at school all week and they're tired and churlish and all they want to do is walk around the house in their underwear flinging legos at each other and making superhero capes out of old satin scraps.  Try to get them out before 10am if they haven't had cartoons and chocolate chip pancakes and they turn into banshees.

But I pressed on.  Because that is what I do.  I ignore any and all signs and I just push on through, goddammit.

We made it to one shelter.  One.  Needless to say, we did not leave with an animal.  There was weeping and gnashing of teeth and high dramatics.

That was just me.  But everyone else lost their shit, too, and we all ended up back in bed when we got home, our arms thrown over our eyes.

We would have stayed that way all day, I think, but we were literally out of food by 4pm so I had to go to the grocery store.  Nolie agreed to go with me.  I whispered to a napping E. (God, what is wrong with me?) on my way out that he and Addie should just go pick out a cat.

He hissed venom from a half-opened eye-hole.

But when Nolie and I got home from King Sooper's, E. and Addie were gone.

They found Emma and liked her.  She's super-lovey.  About six.  With cool rings around her tail.  By some miracle, neither Nolie nor I are allergic to her.  She doesn't claw.  She uses the litterbox.  She sleeps on the girls' beds at night, which they love.  She helps me to type when I bring her into the office with me and shut the door.  She doesn't cry.  She's playful.

But she is utterly and completely terrified of Milo.  If he is in the room, she is not.  And that is why I call her the invisible kitty.  Or Madame Bossquatch, for the squalling beast she turns into when he comes near.

She's also the same color as our carpet.

Sadie hid under the bed for a month when we got Milo, so I hope Emma grows out of it, too.  We'll give her time.  And even if she doesn't grow out of it, she will officially count as the lowest-maintenance pet on the planet.  So that's okay too.

No comments:

Post a Comment