: Wendi was kind enough to email me this offer
. What do you guys think?
Want to know where part one is? Yeah, I want to know why you didn't read it when I first posted it, so I guess we're even.
This week my mama and the kids go to Petco to "look" at cats. Immediately both kids fall in love with a kitten named "Sundance" who they agree to rename Jake, even though she's a girl, so now we have a potential feline transgender situation.
So they have to come back at a certain time to adopt a cat because apparently "on the spot" adoptions are too easy and when they do, they find out that if you want a kitten, you have to take two. Both kids start crying hysterically and mama calls me to see if we can take two or if we can do anything else to shut the kids up. And I say "sure, we can just drown the second one!" I mean, what's the problem? But mama doubts that the kids will Andrea Yates the extra kitten. I'm so sick of this child coddling, I can't tell you.
By the way, before they went to adopt the cat, I had the following phone conversation with Husbandrinka:
Me: They found a cat they want, they're going to go get it.
Him: TODAY? We are not in a position to take a cat today! We're not ready to care for a cat!
Me: What care? You just give it a litter box and some food. Remember, you agreed to our getting a cat. At first, when I wanted it, you said no, not even when I asked for it for my birthday and our anniversary. But then our daughter made a good pitch and you folded.
Him: Yes, I do remember that. And that was an excellent summary.
However, we don't have a litter box!
Me: We will buy one!
Him: What about a cage?
Me: Cats don't need cages.
Him: WHERE WILL WE KEEP IT?
Me: The cat can go wherever she wants.
Him: Is she spayed?
Me: I think she's pregnant, but I'm sure that the kittens won't be cute, so the kids will give them up.
Him: That's not true.
Me: They're going to get the cat.
key: things in italics never happened. I took poetic license to catch up readers on post number one. Which is more than those "readers" have ever done for me. Also, I'm thinking of starting a movement to make sure that whenever poetic license is taken, it has to be in iambic pantameter. (note to self: look up what "iambic pantameter means).
So I tell mama to hang on, I'm on my way to Petco, which for some reason I start calling Costco. I get there and my kids have tear-stained faces and mama looks like she has an Excederin Number 3 headache and points me towards the Woman In Charge and gives me an application that my daughter has filled out.
I look over the application and under "list your pets" my daughter listed our dog, and my parents' dog and under "where are they now?" she wrote "dead" and my heart melts and I don't care if I have to take out half the store, I am leaving with the fucking kitten that she wants. I am fully confident in my negotiating skillz and I totally read this woman well and know what to say.
Turns out that she knows what to say too, and tells me that in their experience, people who adopt kittens often become disappointed when the kitten grows up and turns into a cat and they get rid of the cat. So Petco decided that their new policy is that kittens should be adopted in pairs, because, get this--people are less likely to return two cats than one.
It was really difficult for me to keep a straight face during this speech because first of all, who are these mental midgets who are disappointed that the kitten grows up to be a cat? Were they expecting a kangaroo instead? And second of all, in what universe is it more difficult to return two cats than one?
But I made sympathetic nodding gestures and reassured her that I am not like those people, and that there is absolutely no way that I would ever get rid of a cat, unless, of course, and this is highly unlikely, I happened to redecorate and the cat no longer went with the new color scheme. But I repeat, this is highly unlikely, because, first, the economy is in the litter box (ha ha! this shows that I am down with the cat lingo!) and second, I am very lazy and I'd rather take a catnap than do anything. So, the cat is not in danger.
Ok, if you're not going to have a sense of humor, I don't even understand why you're working at Petco cat adoptions. It's not like I'm some sick fuck
who wanted to make mittens for homeless people out of dead cats
But then I get a break!
She concludes by saying, "but I see that your kids were interested in Sundance
and that's a very special cat." I'm thinking "special" along the lines of cuddly and friendly. But apparently, what she meant by "special" is that the cat "had distemper, which is not dangerous to humans and it's a neurological brain disorder, so it may be harder to place, because it's a little unusual, so it's up to the rescue worker who found her, I'll ask, oh, that's her on the phone now, wait right here."
So she goes to talk on the phone and plead our case and I turn to my kids and say, "This cat is going to die and possibly infect us all, we have to leave right now." They look kind of sad, but also like they want to live. Their mama didn't raise no fools, you know.
"What do you mean?" my daughter asks. "It's so cute."
"It's cute, but it has brain damage," I tell her. "You'll find that a lot in life."
"But what will happen to it?" my son asks. I panic. I want to get the fuck out of there before the lady returns with the "good news" that we can adopt this freak show and my kids renew their waterworks. So I lied.
"The kitten is going to be adopted by a veterinarian who specializes in this kind of illness," I tell them. And then for no good reason, I add, "She's going to be on TV." In my defense, I am unclear as to whether the vet or the kitten will be on TV and they don't ask, so I plan on finessing that lie a little later on, after I retain counsel.
They seem reassured.
"Can we get ice cream?" they ask.
"Only if you hurry!" I sing.
And we're almost out of there, when the adoption lady comes back.
"Bad news," she says. "The rescue owner says that Sundance needs constant company and that she screams all night, so she can't let you have her."
I make a sad face. It's certainly good news for Kate Winslet that my sad face performance wasn't eligible for a Golden Globe this year, because that sucker would have been mine.
"Well," I sigh. "At least we know that the cat will be well cared for."
"By the vet!" my son says.
"On TV!" my daughter says.
UPDATE: We are still cat-free, but our journey doesn't end here. This weekend, we are getting a litter box, so that Husbandrinka can get used to it. Then we will get a bowl of water. And if that adjustment goes well, next weekend, we will go get a cat from a city shelter. I'd prefer one that can do simple domestic tasks, like a service monkey.
Labels: Kids, pets