The Little One's First Big Adventure

As I mentioned in my previous post (which was surprisingly recent), I had to take the new addition to the vet. The $800 alleycat was shamefully overdue for his check-up (I had been dreading the lecture about the dangers of feline obesity as much as he was dreading the rabies shot), so he got to come along for the ride.

And what a ride it was. I loaded the alleycat into the hardest working (pink -- it was the only color they had) cat carrier in town, and packed the kitten into a banker's box. I highly recommend banker's boxes for all your moving needs: no packing tape required, and the handles double as convenient air holes if you happen to be transporting live animals. Beware, however, of using the handles to transport the box, because the live animal inside will try to claw your fingers to ribbons.

With the banker's box riding shotgun (and me trying to hold down the lid while staying out of reach of the clawed paws flailing out of the handle holes) and the pink cat carrier emitting piteous howls from the back seat, I managed to make it the vet's office mostly in one piece and pretty dang close to on time. I carried the box into the waiting room and anchored the top down with some big, heavy books while I went back out to the car for the cat carrier. Upon returning, I replaced the books with a big, heavy, highly-annoyed cat in a pink carrier.

Next up: "the paperwork." Round one was easy: got the name and birthdate... breed = alleycat... gender = male... description = large, grey/white, overweight, slight limp. Round two was more of a challenge: name, none; birthdate, unknown; breed, kitten; gender, female(?); description, small.

The vet's staff didn't find this funny, of course. “We can’t make a file if she doesn’t have a name.”

I am, of course, a firm believer in the “if you name it, you must keep it” school of pet adoption. So the new addition -- still on adoption probation at that point -- now has a file bearing the name “Kitten.”

On to the exam room. The little one checked out “cute” and perfectly healthy, except for a bad case of fleas that was quickly remedied by a super flea-killing pill. The $800 alleycat watched warily from the confines of his pink cat carrier. Jury’s still out on whether he was more terrified of (a) the presence of a 4.4-pound interloper in his life or (b) knowing that he was next in line for the dreaded rabies shot. He, too, checked out healthy, but more overweight than ever. I managed to forestall the lecture with lots of questions about low-carb cat food.

We departed with the new addition in a more manageable carrier, my wallet significantly lighter, and a banker’s box full of dead fleas (courtesy of the flea-killing pill). The alleycat got to ride shotgun on the way home, though, since I didn't have to worry about the dead fleas trying to jump out of the banker's box.

... And Some Things Do

Like people you haven't heard from in years showing up on your Facebook page. But that's definitely a change for the better.

So maybe you caught the subtle reference in the last post to the "new addition" to my household. And maybe you thought "wow, she complained about six weeks without Snickers bars, but she managed to be pregnant and never said a word?" Oh, hell, no. Not even close.

Earlier this month, I began volunteering at the House of Mews, which bills itself as the "oldest legal cathouse in Memphis, Tennessee." It's a no-kill shelter for wayward felines (male and female), including Penny (see picture), a rather large tortoiseshell with a penchant for unladylike postures. Apparently, new volunteers are immediately fitted with a unique tracking device: in a voice only cats can hear, it whispers "if you follow me home, I'll keep you." Fortunately, this device only activates outside the store, lest the unsuspecting volunteer find herself at the head of a Pied Piperesque train approximately 100 four-legged cars long.

The purpose of the device is to help any stray cats not fortunate enough to have landed themselves at HOM to locate cat-lovers like me who will give them an equally loving, and slightly less crowded, home. And it worked perfectly: two days later, I had not one, but TWO stray kitties try to follow me home. The larger of the two, sadly, I could only supply with food and some petting, and hopefully she will find an equally soft-hearted fool elsewhere on my block. The smaller of the two, however, scored the grand prize: deluxe overnight accommodations in my bathroom, a trip to the vet's office (more on that later), and an assortment of kitten chow and cute pink play toys. Congratulations, mom, it's a girl. Six months young, four pounds small, and spring-loaded like only a kitten can be.

Some Things Should Change

Like I should really post more than once a month. At this rate, it'll take me at least 30 years to turn out enough stuff to make a novel.

Things that should change, besides my level of motivation:

Mornings should start later.

Chocolate should be a food group. Actually, it should be four food groups: dark, milk, white, and the kind with nuts in it.

There should be a 9/11 memorial in New York City by now. I started this post by re-reading the one I wrote this time last year. Yep, still feel the same way. That shouldn't change, though.

People in Memphis should do more than complain about the things that drag this city down. I went to a forum on crime last night that had so few attendees it was pitiful.

I've been on an anti-complaining kick lately. Maybe it's the stress of trying not to have a whiny blog. I'm not willing to let anyone else whine either. Except the overweight alleycat, who is downright indignant about the new addition to our household. But not nearly as indignant as he's going to be about the new diet cat food that I'm about to buy. And even he only gets to whine for a couple of days.

So I am off to buy diet cat food, an extra umbrella, and sunglasses, because somehow I managed to lose every pair I have within a week's time. But no complaining.