The Best Cat Who Ever Lived: Part One

 

When I bought this house, I didn’t intend to get a pet. SERIOUSLY. A clean, bright living space, smelling of nothing but fresh paint and wood floors?  Newly renovated? Smells like nothing other than said paint and floors unless someone scrambles eggs, cooks broccoli, or uses a bathroom for its intended purpose??  I wasn’t at all feeling “box of cat excrement” as part of the aesthetic. NO PETS NEED APPLY.

Right.

I broke, of course, less than two weeks in, and went to Exotic Tropicals, a truly lovely local pet store. I purchased a fish and fish tank and rainbow gravel and fish pebbles and - frankly, whatever I was offered. I’ll house a slab of salmon like a hungry hound dog, but I don’t know anything about keeping them alive (they need to live in water, that’s a free tip for you). And so the newly christened Ezekiel James and I went home; him in his bag, and me in my car weighted down with all of his accessories.

The next day happened to be a snow day, and I was being a Normal Human Being by texting all of my coworkers to check on their various collections of children, partners, and pets. I sent such an inquiring text to a delightful human, who responded with pictures of pets in multiple stages of repose. She also included in these responses a picture of a tiny, scrappy-looking little tabby critter and said - “This is [temporary name redacted for privacy of foster owner]. I’m looking for a home for her.” I vaguely felt the jaws of Fate close upon me as I texted back, “I have a home.”

It took about 2 minutes to put some clothes on (I don’t wear clothes at my house - ah! The joys of living alone!) and about 5 minutes to get to her house and fewer minutes for my coworker’s sweet son to toss the cat in her carrier and into my car next to her litter box. He didn’t actually toss, of course. He placed her sweetly, kindly, in her box, in my car, and I quietly sang my favorite Raffi songs to her on the way home. 

I expected her to be timid, of course, and I was ready to begin the arduous process of winning her trust. Instead, when I got her to my house - to OUR HOME, now - she immediately left her crate and came to be loved. This is our first selfie together. Most of you know her through my seemingly unending Facebook posts, and many of you know her from her time chilling in the ivy at the pub; but here’s her first blog appearance. My Harriet, the best cat who's ever lived.

Postscript: The morning after Harriet arrived, Ezekiel James was returned quite unceremoniously to the store from whence he’d come, in a Sonic cup with the lid taped on top. We would say we mourn his absence, but we don't lie on our blog.