What had happened was…

Category: dribblings

So maybe you can tell by the post below, we got a new cat. It’s not what you think. We weren’t looking for a replacement for Lebowski, there’s not one. He was way too awesome.

But what had happened was this:

Weeks ago the local Humane Society had this concert fund raiser. My sister-in-law works there part-time and she was trying to get me to adopt a puppy/cat. I was all, “I already have a dog and a cat.” And every once in a while at the house she’d bring up this cat.

“He’s so sweet!”

“I have a sweet cat.”

“He has the best personality.”

“Lebowski is awesome.”

“True.”

and so it would go.

When Lebowski was killed it was devastating. Everyone I know was totally bummed for us. A few days later Cindy mentioned that the Humane Society still had that other cat. I told her I wasn’t really ready, and she totally understood. A couple of days later Mr. Fleegan and I were talking about something and he said that he thought we’d get another cat. I said I wasn’t so sure.

And also, while all this was going on, I swear, two days after ‘bowsker’s death, our yard was over-run with chipmunks.

The bastards are all over the place. And normally I’d not be all “die, cute animal, die!” but those things dig holes in my yard and right at the foundation of our house. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve nearly broken my ankle while mowing the lawn. They are a cute little menace, but they’ve got to go.

Anyway, on Friday I was doing a tiny amount of yard work (i’m STILL battling a bladder infection.) and I was sad because I missed how my cat would always come up and “help” me (read: totally get in the way, but be really cute doing so.) and for a second I thought about that cat at the Humane Society. I wondered if he was still there because it seemed like he’d been there a long time and maybe by now someone had adopted him, or maybe they had put him down.
Not ONE MINUTE LATER I got a text message from Cindy. It was a picture of that cat.

What the? What are the odds?

So I texted that I was just thinking of that cat and she said I should come visit him. It was my day off so I thought what the hell, go see the cat.

But then, about 10 minutes later Cindy called.

“Hey, I don’t want to pressure you, and I swear I didn’t know about this when I texted you this morning…”

“What?”

“But they’re putting that cat down today.”

“Oh, for crying out loud. Are you setting me up?”

“No, no! I just wanted you to know, that if you’re interested in this cat, and he’s a sweetie, and I think he’d do well at your house cos he’s used to dogs and cats so he’d be cool with Roxy and Ruby, that you might want to let me know right now because well, they’ve already loaded up the juice.”

“Shit. Let me call Jimmy first and see if he can come see this cat with me.”

“Okay, call me back.”

So I call Jimmy and I explain the sitch to him and the first thing he said was, “Go get that cat.”

I was all, “Wait! I’ll go meet the cat, and if it scratches me or acts like a douche in any way, I’ll walk away.”

“Cindy wouldn’t recommend a douche cat.”

“I know.”

“Go get it.”

“We’ll see. I’ll call you back.”

So I get to the shelter and meet the cat and yes, it is the sweetest, softest, lovingest cat.

My friends at the shelter made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. So now we have a cat. He’s two years old. He’s super sweet. We haven’t named him yet, although I have been calling him Mister Biscuits because he’s always making biscuits… on the floor, on your lap, in the air, biscuit making. I kind of don’t want his name to be Mister Biscuits because I don’t want to have to tell people that that is his name.

“Is that your cat?”

“Yes.”

“What’s his name?”

“Mister Biscuits.”

It sounds ridiculous. Literally. Because I’m not just saying Mister Biscuits in a normal voice. I say it in a sissified southern way. Mee-esster Bee-esscuitss. sibilant S’s.

I hope we come up with something better. Not that it matters, we’ll never really call him by a name. We’ll probably call him “Here, kitty kitty” because that’s what all cats respond to. And also he’ll get called Pitters, which is short for Pitty Pat. And also he’ll get called Pits, which is short for Pitters.

I’m pretty sure we’ve been had because here’s Mister Biscuits high-fiving Cindy.