Get a Crate, I'm Taking This Cat Home!

I wonder if my husband knew about my animal collecting ways when he married me 19 years ago. He certainly knows this now and doesn’t complain too much, until the pets start to outnumber the humans in our family. I tried to tell him it should really be the ratio of our house square footage to animal population and I noticed he just rubbed his eyes really hard, like if he did that and looked again, there would not be yet another four-legger in our home.

In the fall of 2001, we had a guinea pig who just couldn’t stop itching himself due to mites. I have no idea how he kept getting these mites, but I have since learned that once a guinea pig gets these atrocious nasty bugs, they are very hard to get rid of and the fastest, surest way is a trip to the vet.

Of course I did just that. I put the pig in the cat carrier and toted him off to the vet for his shot to make him stop itching. Just my luck though, on the way to the vet’s office, I received a call from the nurse’s office at the elementary school, informing me that my second grader was running a fever. Great.

So it was a doctor visit day for the pig and the girl. While I was paying for the guinea pig’s treatment, I noticed that my daughter was nowhere to be seen (she was suppose to sit in the waiting room, as far away from everyone as possible for no germ contamination). I was starting to panic, just as she came around the corner with a striped cat in her arms.

“Mom! Look at this pretty kitty. She has no home and she loves me. We can give her a home, right?”

My first response was no. Another cat? We had two of those at home, plus the guinea pig and a couple of rats and my 20 year old cockatiel. So really, another cat? Um no.

“Come on mom,” she pleaded. "Just hold her and listen to her purr!”

If this happens to you, run. Do not let that cat into your arms, do not listen to the purring or let her knead you with her paws and whatever else you do, do not ever look into a cat’s eyes. Once that happens you are under the magic cat spell.

 I did all of the above, and found myself completely under that feline’s spell, and before you could say, “Elaine has turned into the cat lady of San Ramon,” I told the woman in the adoption center to get a box, the ones with holes, this cat was coming home with the pig. How could I not? She had been in the shelter for months and months. Everyone wants the cute baby kitties, not the grown up ones. How could I possibly say no?

As I signed the adoption papers, a little thread of sanity seeped into my cat hypnotized brain and I said, “Oh my goodness, what is dad going to say? I hope he understands this was a cat emergency. This cat needed a home really bad!”

That’s when the cat adoption lady said, “Maybe he won’t notice one more cat ... I mean, after you own two, do they notice the extras?” Yeah, well, that’s going to be a problem since the other two cats are black and white and this one is an orange-y brown stripy. Sure, honey, we’ve always had three cats ... you mean you never noticed the striped one before? That’s weird.

I drove home with a dose of antibiotics for the sick 8 year old, a squealing guinea pig (we should have named him Angry Pig and not Reese’s Pieces), and a cat, shredding her way out of the card board box.  I really hoped David wouldn’t be too angry with me and that I could get home before the yowling cat clawed a hole big enough to squeeze through.  

Not a problem with the angry dad though, they must teach 8-year-olds how to be extremely good at justifying things, like mom brought home another pet but only because it needed a home really bad. When David walked in the front door, my middle daughter declared, “Mom brought home a kitty today, but don’t worry, she was free.”

Free? No he didn’t buy that at all. He’d already seen the guinea pig vet bill. I heard him trudging up the stairs to come and meet our newest four legged family member, who we had already named Pixie Dust.

I know it was evil and underhanded of me, but I placed Pixie Dust his arms and told him to look at her eyes ... after that he was history, even the man of the house is not immune to cat powers. She keeps her powers honed by sleeping on his pillow while he is at work and curling up for a cat nap on his freshly laundered dress shirts. I think he’s used to the stripy fur now and he has no clue about her magic cat powers.

When I bring a new pet home (like the guinea pig or the rats) he doesn’t even breathe funny anymore. He just wants to know what we named him/her. I think he might still be under Pixie’s magic powers.

I don’t think I am, but then again, sometimes I find myself putting a whole salmon in my grocery cart and I think, “What?  That’s not on the list!”