I had almost postponed my trip into the pet store when I saw the “Cat and Kitten Adoptions Today” sign on the highway. But I decided to call up my rusty assertiveness training and give it some practice. Even though I’m a sucker for the cute little furry things, I am a single mother to an only cat-child. It’s difficult to raise one alone. I pulled my coat tight across my chest, and with chin tucked to neck I marched into the store. My only mission: cat food.
The energy level in the pet store was high: people humming with conversation, customers crowding about, and less room, it seemed. The heady scent of kibble, rubber chew toys and catnip permeated the air. The owner’s large golden retriever was sprawled next to the cash register as usual, oblivious to the buzz. Her right paw twitched along with her eyebrow as she chased a gopher around in her dream. Folding tables topped with cages in the middle of the store blocked my path to the salmon-flavored gourmet veterinarian-endorsed dry cat food.
Inside each wire cage were two to four kittens nested in torn newspaper. Some were trying to nap while others rolled, growled, and bit at each other’s necks. I felt my lips press themselves into a determined line. I averted my eyes. I looked for the salmon colored bag on the crowded shelves, but I saw a little movement in the nearest cage and had to investigate. When I was sure that no one was looking, I stepped toward the cage to get a better view of its contents. I smiled a bit. But I caught myself: This is not good. I must force my feet to walk right by them. With steely resolve I decided to take another path to the cat food bags.
As I made my way over towards the shelves, I almost bowled over the tiny grey-haired woman who was clutching a clipboard. I guess it was because I’d been squinting my eyes so I couldn’t see the kittens. I apologized and checked her for obvious bruises and cuts. She had a nametag pinned to her sweater that read, "Geraldine.” She had kind, watery blue eyes. At that instant, I knew that I was in trouble. She was the enemy.
"Hello, we have some kittens that we are adopting out to good homes." She led me to the tables and we both bent over to look inside the cages. The furry little bundles squirmed, and my eyes rested on the one that's different from the others. I found myself already picking out the one I’d like best. The one with the same color and markings of my cat. She was brindle, brown fur tipped in black and with golden eyes. Her chin and front paws were a soft, velvety white. All the other cats in the cage, and there were four of them, were all black, or black and white. No one would be able to tell that she’d been adopted.
I had been thinking about adopting a homeless kitten for some time, but I always change my mind. My cat is named Bridey. I met her in the animal shelter in New Mexico where we lived, when I was looking for my lost cat, Dorian. Dorian disappeared and we never found him. I searched for over a month around our desert subdivision and made daily visits to the animal shelter to look for Dorian. I think that a coyote caught him.
I recycled the kitten adoption thought in my brain. Why not have another kitten to keep Bridey company? She must be lonely all day while I am at work. Plus, only cat-children tend to be spoiled. It would be good for her to learn to share.
I looked Geraldine in the eyes, I’d like to give that kitten a good home, I said. I told Geraldine that I liked that one because her markings were just like my cat. As soon as I heard myself say the words, I thought what a dumb thing I’d said – what kind of reason was that to get a cat? Because it matches the one I already have? I really needed to watch what I said. Don’t just blurt out anything.
“Just fill out this form,” she said as I took the clipboard from her. I could see that this was going to take some time. The clipboard held four pages with questions on front and back. There were more questions than there are on the DMV driving test. The form asked all the usual questions plus some interesting ones like, “What if you move away, what will you do with the cat,” and “How many hours a day will you spend with the cat,” and “What other pets do you have, who is the vet, when did you last take your pet to the vet, and why did you take your pet to the vet?” I was kind of surprised that they didn’t ask me for my height, weight and swab my cheek for my DNA.
Now, I figured these are reasonable questions, designed to root out people who aren’t in love with animals. So I sat down in a folding chair and started to write. By the time I got to the last page the cramp in my hand hurt pretty bad. I rubbed my neck while I thought up the most appropriate answers; the answers that would make the animal adoption people believe that I really do love cats. Bridey sleeps on my bed every night, and has me well trained. I am her unpaid door opener. She lives in my house rent-free and doesn’t have to do any chores.
With the form completed, I was turned over to another woman, heavy-set with arms folded across her generous bosom. Her nametag read, “Erma.” Erma was wearing a long flowing dress patterned with calico cats. Over her dress she has a fleece vest with a silver cat pin. Cute little cat earrings adorn her ears.
Erma eyed me critically and said she could start the interview. Interview? A tiny terror gripped my throat. I swallowed hard. My head started to throb. I just wanted to give a kitten a good home. A home with a respectable parent. A home with a warm bed and good food. A kind and loving home that would be the envy of all the other cats in the neighborhood. It occurred to me that maybe I was being a little paranoid. So I focused on her questions. I gave myself a little pep talk: this can’t be that hard…you can do it. I cleared my throat and smiled confidently.
“Is your cat an indoor or outdoor cat?” she queried. She had a slightly nasal tone. She tapped her foot on the carpet impatiently. I noticed that her socks were embroidered with little kitties. I knew this question was on the form I filled out, and she was looking at it. I couldn’t remember what I had written. I had tried to answer the questions the way I thought they wanted me to answer them. Overall, though, I was pretty honest.
Wondering if it’s a trick question, I said, “My cat goes inside and outside at will except at night.” Sweat trickled down the inside of my elbows. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. I’d never had a job interview that was so difficult. “In fact, she will come in one door and a minute later ask to go out another,” I chortled, as beads of sweat developed along my upper lip. I saw the thin skin around Erma’s eyes tighten. She drew a long breath in through her nose. “Well, the cat you want is an indoor cat, only,” and her stress was on the word only. Immediately my mind started running like a hamster on the wheel. How could I get out of this? There was no way to keep a cat inside the house with Bridey running in and out of every door and window.
“She has never been outside and can’t ever go outside. She is not trained to be scared of wild animals.” Now, something in what she said started my mind to work. I think that animals, especially cats, are instinctively cautious. If a cat hasn’t been outside, it probably won’t want to go there; but if it wants to get out, nothing will be able to stop it. So after a few more questions, she figures I pass the test. I nearly fall off the chair with relief, but my pants are so sweaty they prevent me by sticking to the seat. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I promise to keep the kitten inside at all times.
They give you a week of waiting time to make sure that you don’t change your mind. Then they visit your house to see if you were indeed, truthful. I buy the cat food and drive home. The farther I get from the pet store, the more apprehensive I am feeling. What if they come over to bring the kitten and I don’t pass inspection? What if Bridey bites the kitten on its neck when Erma sets it down in the living room? What if they check my references and find out that once I had eight cats and no litter box because they all went out through the broken pane of the kitchen window?
I start wondering how I was going to keep this cat inside if my other cat was always going in and out. Would the new kitten have issues? I know that my Bridey will be jealous and mock her new sister through the closed door. Will the new kitten plot fiendishly to get out through the chimney? What if something happened to this kitten?
I thought of my Dorian and the coyote. Even though there weren’t any coyotes around here, we still have cars racing along the streets, the mangy tomcat, skunks and raccoons, and the threat that someone would kidnap Bridey because she’s so friendly. Bridey hadn’t liked it when I took her to the vet the last time. She’d been beat up pretty bad by the new neighbor’s cat and the vet gave her stitches, medicine and a cone collar. Even though she controls the bird and gopher population she’s lucky she is still alive at six years old. I began to reconsider my opinion of myself as a good mother to Bridey. No good mother would expose her precious to danger, disease and possible poisoning this way. It would be more reasonable to keep both cats inside, instead of one in and one out, and I could start now in the rainy season. I got out the earplugs to prepare for Bridey’s complaints. Besides, the birds in the neighborhood will thank me.
