Though I have it on good authority that I cannot be the crazy cat lady because I iz murried, I suspect I’m skating dangerously close to crazy cat lady status anyway.
Master’s always said that we aren’t getting any more cats. We have 3, and we weren’t even supposed to have that many. Once we got ourselves out of the omg-another-batch-o-kittens! cycle (remember them days?), we were down to a respectable 2 cat household. But then the one cat got outside and never returned and Master took pity upon my grief and let me go to the humane society, where, bless my soul, they were having a 2 fur 1 (get it? fur? Ha!) sale and we jumped from 1 to 3.
But I luffs them, so that’s okay.
So then I had a birthday coming up, right? And Master’s asking me what I want and junk.
I NEEDED nothing. I’m a spoiled little bitch, every single day. He was especially generous on Christmas and with my birthday following so close, I didn’t want anything new.
I DID want something old. Something old and unwanted by most everyone else. Something that makes me feel good and useful and, maybe, makes up a tiny tad for my contribution to the unwanted cat population during my omg-another-batch-o-kittens! days.
I wanted to adopt 1.. just 1.. old and unwanted and hard to place kitty cat from the shelter. I wanted to DO something, rather than GET something.
The surprising thing was that he said yes. I totally expected an absolute, end-of-conversation refusal.
So I pushed my luck a little more. Because the cat that I wanted, a sick, 11 yr old boy, came in with a buddy. His life-long buddy who loved him very much and the two shouldn’t be separated.
Meet my birthday presents:
That guy is Grandpa. Doesn’t he just look like a grumpy old man? He’s the sick one, and his age (11yrs) combined with his illness, he’s probably not going to be around more than a few years, if that. He’s rather scrawny, and pretty lethargic, but we’ve already been to the vet and his blood work is “okay” (meaning: as to be expected) and his chest xray showed a heart still within normal size range. We’ll recheck in 6 months and compare changes. In the meantime, the most stressful part of his day is deciding which bed (ours or Am’s) to snooze the day away in. He plays a little bit, especially first thing in the morning, but he’s only got the stamina for about 5 minutes worth of play time. Then he sleeps. ALL DAY LONG.
I know I took on future vet bills. I know some day I’ll have to make the choice to put him down.
This here is Wilford Brimley, named after his look-alike, uh, Wilford Brimley.
He’s old, too. 10 or so. He’s lived all of his life with Grandpa. They lurve each other. He’s healthy, a little skittish and quiet, and likes to drink out of the faucet. He’s not very playful (yet), whether that’s because he doesn’t want to or is not yet comfortable enough to, I don’t know. He’ll play a little bit all by himself, batting around a milk jug ring, but if anyone interferes, he’s done and walks away. He otherwise has no interest in toys. He’ll take some affection but only on his terms. Imagine that, eh?
So anyway. Only my fellow cat lovers will appreciate this entry.