“What kind of cat are we getting again?” Kristy chirped from the backseat, leaning forward so she could feel included in Melanie’s and my conversation.
For the third time, I answered, “Whatever they have at the pound.”
“Oh yeah, because they give out free cats, right?”
Melanie snorted while I buried my face in my arms against the steering wheel, fortunately at a red light. However, I didn’t feel like explaining to Kristy why the cats were free or why it was kinder to adopt cats that would be euthanised otherwise. As far as I knew, she was probably under the impression that kitties didn’t die, they were just sent out to great big kitty farms in Montana where they could eat tuna and chase mice all day. She probably didn’t know what the word ‘euthanized’ meant. It was code for ‘sent to kitty farms in Montana.’
“Well what are we going to name it?”
“You talk to her, Melanie. I don’t think I’m getting through,” I sighed, listening as Melanie explained the concept of meeting the cat before we thrust a name upon it. And I had already nixed any cutesy name. No cat that was 1/3 mine would suffer under the nomenclature of Muffin or Mopsy or Boots.
“Well are we getting a boy or girl?”
“Okaaaay, Kris, how about we don’t ask any more questions?” Melanie encouraged.
I added, “For every question you think of that you don’t ask, I’ll give you a gold star.”
“But how will you know if I don’t ask–“
”Here we are!” I announced loudly, relief clear on my face. Kristy had gotten into some sugar or hard drugs or something, because she was especially vocal and especially aloof today. She insisted it had something to do with too much coffee and not sleeping anymore, at which point Melanie reminded her that we did sell decaf at Moe’s. She didn’t have to get a cup of caffeine every day. She could even come to see us without buying anything, if the desire so struck her. When she wasn’t listening, we agreed to just start giving her decaf anyways, no matter what coffee she ordered. More for our sake than her’s.
The low, grey building looked as bland and unnoteworthy as I knew it wasn’t for the dozens of cats and dogs who drew their final breaths here. My mother had been a hardcore animal right’s activist –not in the P.E.T.A. field (“a bunch of nutjobs,” she always said), but in becoming a veterinarian and flooding our house with stray dogs and cats as far as Dad would allow. Dad had always joked that he always got slightly anxious before going to bed every night, lest Mom give his spot in the bed away to one of the refugees.
“Come on,” I encouraged, locking the doors and yanking my purse up. “And let us do the talking, okay Kris?”
“Sure . . . oh no, I’m going to want to adopt a puppy, too,” she warned, already hearing the barks before we opened the door.
“Well you can’t because we live in an apartment and I’m sure not walking the thing at two in the morning,” I retorted. Hence why we were getting a cat. Litter boxes sucked, but they sure beat walking the dog in the rain. Besides, I thought keeping dogs in apartments was bordering on cruel.
No one was inside, and we had to wait several minutes for even a receptionist to appear, apparently oblivious to the number of times Melanie ‘ding’ed the service bell. Not until the phone rang did a guy amble out, his arms hidden somewhere beneath inked designs of birds and fish and an iguana or gecko. Some kind of reptile. Maybe a Komodo dragon. It was on his elbow so I couldn’t really tell, because it seemed to change species anytime he bent or straightened his arm.
He ignored us a few minutes longer, talking to someone on the phone about a dog they didn’t want. He offered advice about contacting animal control or something –I wasn’t paying much attention, but Melanie seemed to be listening intently.
As soon as he hung the phone up, I explained lest he dart back through the door, “Hi, I called about adopting a cat.” He spun mid-step and seemed surprised to see us standing there.
“Ohhh, hey there. Sorry. Tunnel-vision, you know? Just got some dogs in– what did you say? You want to adopt a cat?”
“Yes, I called earlier.”
“Oh, yeah, you talked to me then. Dustin.”
“Yeah, Ava Rae. Melanie. Kristy.” They said their hellos.
“So you said on the phone you were looking for a female cat?”
I nodded, “Yeah, we just don’t have the space, money, or time to handle a male’s . . . problems.” He gave me a confused look for a moment, as though he had forgotten we were talking about a cat.
“Oh! Right, right. Well it’s good you know that upfront. Men tend to have UTIs and get into fights a lot and stuff.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m single,” Melanie muttered. I snorted into my hand and Dustin laughed, though hesitantly, as though he couldn’t believe she had just said that.
“Right. Right, well why don’t you come on back and see who we’ve got,” he suggested, though he definitely said it more in Melanie’s direction. He might have tunnel-vision, but I certainly did not, and mentally rolled my eyes at these first baby steps into the world of flirtation.
As we followed him through the swinging door, I whispered to Kristy, “I think Melanie knows which one she wants . . .”
“Ava!” Melanie hissed, sticking her bony elbow in the middle of my back.
“Ow! Back off bitch,” I whispered back.
“So . . . cats,” Dustin called over his shoulder, as though informing us he had heard every word of our exchange. Probably he was wondering what policy was on refusing to give an animal to anyone who didn’t seem fit to care for a plant, much less a cat.
Still he led us to a room lined with cages, almost all occupied. Every breed, shape, size, age, and color of cat was represented, either pacing behind bars or cuddled up for an afternoon nap in the blankets or scraggly beds thrust into each cage. The shelter was at least trying to make the cats comfortable, and I knew they were working on minimal funds, but still it broke my heart. I felt empathy for my mom’s desires to adopt everything in sight. It made me want to load them all into my car and buy some great big farmhouse. Maybe make that idea of the kitty haven out in Montana a reality and dedicate the rest of my days to taking in unwanted cats and giving them the paradise they deserved. But then I really would be the crazy old cat lady my dad had teased me of becoming as a little girl, and that was right up there on my list of greatest fears, right between dying in a chemical fire and getting a disease that makes all my hair fall out.
“Well, as you see, we have quite the selection,” Dustin offered with an almost sad shake of his head. “Are you wanting older or younger?”
“Aw, I want a kitten,” Kristy squealed, clasping her hands in front of her so that she both looked and sounded like a twelve-year-old girl. I had already started pacing up and down the cages, looking with pure pity at all the cats that I couldn’t take home with me.
Melanie was more of my mind, though, and insisted, “Everyone wants a kitten, Kristy. Let’s get an older cat, though. You know, not old old,” she said to Dustin. “But . . .”
“Like a teenager cat,” he suggested.
“Yeah. Adolescent. Maybe middle-aged at best.” It was a weird sense of humor that I definitely didn’t get, but the two of them laughed and I rolled my eyes. It took everything in me to bite my lip and not quip, “We’re here to get a cat, Melanie. Remember? A cat.”
“Well, this girl here is about three,” Dustin explained, leading Kristy and Melanie closer to me and pointing to a cage with a ball of orange fur. It was one of those cats with the smushed faces, though, and those had always scared me. They always looked like they were contemplating your demise. “Or that grey girl there is about two, we think.”
“What about this one?” I asked, sticking my bars through the cage of a cat that was truly a mess. A calico as far as I could tell, but with slightly longer fur like she wasn’t quite sure she was a calico. Her eyes were different colors and her tale was kinked as though it had been broken and healed slightly crooked. When I stopped at her cage, she instantly flopped onto her back and looked up at me with her wide eyes, her kinked tail twitching. The second I looked away, she mewed, then rolled back over as soon as I looked back. She was ugly, but there was something captivating about her.
“Oh, that girl? She’s . . . four as far as I’ve figured. It’s hard to guess, you know, when we pick them up or people just drop them off. She’s pretty spastic but very funny.”
“Aw, she’s a cutie,” Kristy smiled, sticking her fingers through the cage. The cat leapt up and began doing this funny sort of dance in the cage, her eyes trained on Kristy’s fingers as though she were out in the wild hunting. Her kinked tailed went crazy. “We could name her Kinky.”
“We are not naming her Kinky,” Melanie snorted before I could get it out, and I nodded through my laughter.
Dustin’s face lit up, “Is this the one you want?”
“Let’s look at all of them, but so far I think this is one we’re all agreeing on, right Mel?” She nodded and listened intently as Dustin rattled off the history of the cat, leaving me to peruse the rest of the cages. She had been picked up from beside the high way and brought in a couple months earlier. Several people had looked but no one wanted her, mostly because she looked like such a mess.
“No one can quite decide if she’s cute or ugly,” he laughed.
Melanie smiled, “I think she’s both. Well Ava, what’s the verdict?”
“I’m going to go with ugly–“
”No,” she laughed, giving me a playful shove. I knew what that was. It was the way girls showed off for boys, by being loud and giggly with their friends. I had to save her before she did something she regretted.
Quickly, I nodded, “She’s the one. Right age, seems nice, kinda weird. She’ll fit right in, don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” Kristy agreed, stepping back as Dustin pulled the keys to the cage out of his pocket. He seemed thoroughly thrilled that we were adopting this unwanted, ugly cat. “I want to carry her!” Kristy insisted. We had brought a cage but left it out by the desk, so Dustin let Kristy carry our new little kitty proudly through the back room to the desk. The cat’s eyes widened to even greater, odder proportions, and I thought she looked downright cocky as she stared at all the other cats still in their cages. Her tail twitched and she alternated between inspecting the passing scenery and nipping playfully at Kristy’s curled hair, which made her giggle.
As Kristy and I maneuvered the cat into her carrier, Dustin asked, “Okay, whose name is going to go on the adoption certificate?”
“Mine,” Melanie quickly answered, already pulling her driver’s license out. “I’m the mature, responsible one, you know? These two . . .”
“I thought we were doing it because you’re the only one that has a guaranteed stable future,” Kristy interjected.
“By stable she means, you know, I’ve got a job and an apartment and– well, see, Ava travels a lot and–“
”Just sign the papers, Mel,” I suggested, standing up beside her and putting the pen in her hand. She seemed almost grateful that I had interrupted her babbling and quickly set pen to paper. Dustin seemed oblivious to her embarrassment, though, and perfectly fine with her rambles. As she filled things in, he asked her what school she went to, what she was studying, and so on.
Finally, everything set in order, Dustin gave us the papers saying which shots the kitty had gotten. Melanie took these while Kristy pulled the carrier up into her arms, clutching it against her chest like a kid with a teddy bear. I thanked Dustin for his help and turned to go, but he gasped,
“Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” I wasn’t sure what he had forgotten, but almost laughed outright as he yanked a post-it note form the desk and quickly scribbled something down. “If you have any problems or any questions or anything, just give me a call. It’s my– that’s my cell, so you’re sure to get an answer.”
“Aw, how sweet. You must really like animals if you give out your cell to–“ Kristy started.
I took the post it note and stuck it on the papers in Melanie’s hand, suggesting, “Here, Melanie, why don’t you hold onto that? Kristy, walk.” Taking both their arms, I guided them out of the animal shelter, wondering what was in the water we were drinking at the apartment. Was it just me or were both my roomies getting stupider as the days went by?
Kristy didn’t mind being in the backseat this time, buckling in the carrier beside her and talking to the cat through the bars. I had never had a cat before that liked riding in the car, but this one didn’t seem to mind; or maybe it was simply too amused at Kristy’s baby talk to pay any attention to the sounds of traffic.
“I don’t care what we name her, I’m still calling her Kinky,” Kristy insisted as we pulled into the parking lot at the apartment. “Kinky and Kristy. It’s cute, isn’t it?”
“We aren’t naming the cat Kinky.”
“What are we naming her, though?” Melanie asked, watching with concern as Kristy unbuckled the carrier and carefully maneuvered it out of the car. “I’m bad at naming cats.”
“Well it should be something we all like. Maybe something that means something to all of us.”
We fell silent in thought, trying all the way up to the apartment to think of some name for a female cat that had a meaning to all three of us. We came up with nothing.
That morning we had bought a bed for the cat, and a scratching post, and a little box, and probably a month’s worth of food. All of this had been doled out in an orderly fashion –the food in the kitchen, the litterbox in the bathroom, the bed in the living room. Truly, the cat had it made. Three doting mommies and everything it could possibly ask for. Toys and a scratching post.
However, none of this interested her in the least. We all watched with a controlling interest as our new cat turned her nose up at everything we pointed out to her and instead leapt up onto the kitchen windowsill, knocking Melanie’s potted tiger lily into the sink. Dirt went everywhere, the flower broke, the pot cracked, and the cat merely looked down at this mess with a confused disdain, as though wondering who had dared just throw a potted plant into the sink right below her.
“My tiger lily!” Melanie cried.
“Poor kitty!” Kristy sighed.
“Welcome to cat motherhood,” I snickered, leaning against the counter as they both sprang into action.
The phone suddenly rang, which apparently scared the cat half to death. She leapt down from the counter and took off out of the kitchen at lightening speed, disappearing somewhere in either mine or Kristy’s bedroom. She was quick, that was for sure.
“My tiger lily!” Melanie sighed again, picking up the broken stem. Casualty number one of our adventures in motherhood.
“Poor kitty is so scared. I’m sure this is really overwhelming for Kinky.”
“Her name isn’t Kinky,” I insisted, picking up the phone and hanging it up instantly. As much as I hated our cable bill, we weren’t changing.
“Well then what is her name?” Kristy demanded.
“Tiger Lily,” Melanie suggested. “In honor of my flower that she just killed. One had to die that the other might live, I guess.” She threw the plant in the trash and began washing the dirt out of the sink. It would probably clog the drain but she didn’t seem too concerned about that.
“Tiger Lily . . . like the princess in Peter Pan!” Kristy cried. “I like that.”
“I’ll call her Lily,” I shrugged. “That’s not a bad cat name. Maybe it’ll make her think she’s pretty.”
“Ava! That’s a terrible thing to say about our baby!” Melanie laughed.
I insisted, “I didn’t say she was ugly! She’s just . . . special, is all.”
“No, she’s ugly,” Melanie agreed after a pause. “But she’s our ugly kitty. Now where did she go?”
“Well find her so we can show her the litterbox,” I suggested. A pause, and then all three of us took off in search of her, calling, “Here, kitty kitty. Here, Tiger Lily. Where are you, Lily? Don’t crap under the bed!”
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