I have a kitty.
It’s not my fault.
I was out for dinner with another resident, and he expressed a desire to go look at cats at the humane society. Since he doesn’t have a car, I drove him the next day and my husband tagged along. And while he was looking at an energetic black kitty, I sat down randomly with this sort of quiet, dun coloured cat. He started purring immediately, and snuggled in close.
I fell in love with him immediately. My husband didn’t actually handle him that first visit, but when we went back two days later (at my insistence), he simply said “let’s go fill out the paperwork.”
And so we brought home Nile. (As in the river. It’s the name he came with.)
We learned that he was surrendered to the Humane society as part of an investigation into a cat-hoarding incident, but that’s all we know. We initially had to wait two weeks to bring him home, because he caught a URTI/pneumonia pretty much the instant we submitted our paperwork. It’s surprising that he is so snuggly, and so sociable (he follows us around constantly, and “chats” all the time.) But the only traits he shows from the hoarder house is the couple of nicks on his ears, and a tendency to wolf down all his food at once.
Now, though, he spends most of his time lounging on the couch or his cat-tree, chasing things tied on the end of a string, and teaching me how to nap.
He’s the best thing to happen to me since I matched to Psychiatry.
The funniest part of the story, though, is that my colleague never got a cat in the end. Turns out his lease won’t allow it.