I had been strenuously avoiding getting a cat or dog. Too much pet for me. All that caring, and feeding, and walking, and just worrying about.
As a writer I am always yearning for space and solitude and no responsibilities so that I can get something, anything down on paper.
So we’ve worked our way through a range of noncommittal pets: gold fish, hamsters, robot dogs, budgies in cages. Pets that are contained and do not require too much of my wildly divided attention.
But nothing satisfied our daughter.
She needed something to cuddle.
And she’s about to turn 11. Her childhood is passing before our very eyes.
Oh, the guilt!
So I finally broke down.
But I said to my husband, this is your thing. I’m already taking care of the damn budgies. This is your enchilada.
And so he made the calls and arranged everything.
This past weekend we didn’t tell the children where we were going. We told them they were being dragged to yet another art gallery by their mother. They were just thrilled.
Oh, the fabulous look on their faces when we walked into Cat Protection, the cat adoption place in Archway.
Naturally, we had just missed a huge selection and all that were left was a very noisy Siamese and a pair of young tabbies which couldn’t be separated.
Ah, well, I thought, relieved. Too bad. We’ll come back later (maybe in a couple of decades…) when the stock has been refilled.
Um, yes, we now have two tabbies.
Darwin and Snowflake.
They came home yesterday to stay. Got named. Nosed around the kitchen. Chased each other’s tails. Plunked themselves in our laps.
And I must say, for a flea-ridden set of more responsibility, they’re awfully cute…
photo by Merlijn Hoek (flickr)