A New Member of the Family

We adopted a new kitten last week. This was after years of our children begging us for a pet. I had joined my husband in issuing curt “nos” every time the subject came up, and then I discovered that having a pet is social currency for children. When children meet they ask each other names, ages, grades, and then what kind of pet they have. Once I realized the humiliation my children were going through when having to answer “none,” I, too, joined the clamor in the pet discussion. 

Cleaning a cat box is worth my children being able to save face.

Finally, my husband acquiesed in the only way he knows how, which was to say, “Do whatever you want, but I’m not touching it, cleaning up after it, paying for it, or carrying its dead body out of the house.” I thought this was sort of amusing since I don’t work and have no money of my own, so of course he would be paying for it. Also, I can guarantee you right now that none of the three of us will be carrying any dead bodies out, so unless he wants an animal to rot in the house he paid for, he most likely will be carrying it out when it dies.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We went to the Humane Society, brought two kitten sisters into the “Get Acquainted” room and after 20 minutes decided to take the one that was the most playful. Actually, we chose her because she was cuter, but that would have been too shallow to tell the Humane Society workers. We brought her home and she quickly integrated herself into our family system. 

Her first night she slept alone on the first floor of the house. We’d gone upstairs and being only eight weeks old she must not have been able to figure out where we were. Cats are quick learners, though, and the next night she joined us. At some point in the middle of the night she found my husband’s chest where she laid down and began to purr so loud it sounded like a Harley was idling in our bed.

By the third night she was smitten with Mr. I’m Having Nothing To Do With Any Pet. Now when he is going up and down the stairs in preparation for bed, she’ll stand on the landing like a creepy girl at a party waiting to see where he is going. Then she’ll follow him and if he turns and goes a different direction, she does too, acting like that had always been her ultimate destination. And when he finally lies down, she climbs on his chest and begins that idling Harley sound. He pets her and she stays all night. The little whore. 

My husband, that is.