I bought a cat from the homeless cat emporium and service center downtown today. I realized after I adopted it, it is not the same cat I had examined and petted with the great cat-thumbs when I cat-shopped yesterday. It looked like it, but whatever, close enough, it's not like I had real criteria other than it be a cat and be alive. They almost did not let me have it because I failed a few questions on the potential owners test. I wrote "sure-- occasionally" next to "Do you plan to take the cat outside?".
The cat quizbowl woman said "What do you mean "occasionally" outside?"
"Oh, you know, like on a leash, just a walk around the block, around the yard, get some exercise and fresh air..?"
"Unht-uh. Cats don't ever be let outside..."
"I just figured, you know, see the world...umm, on a leash, it'd be okay...?"
She looked at me like I had just told her that I was into fisting, or my favorite song is the live vers. of Philip Bailey's "On Broadway".
"I have had a cat all my life and I never put it on a leash once. Nuhnt-uh. Not even once" -- she was having none of the alternative parenting style.
Despite my desires to venture about avec chat and give it a sail boat sort of name - they let me take her home. (Britt's suggestion of ""Debbie's Twilight Dreams II - Sanibel Island, Fla" almost won out, but for now we're calling her "Monkee" (in honor of another marginalized spaz, Peter Tork . Ok, that was a lie.)). It was either that or "Carlton" -- which makes me imagine her as an older man with fat fingers, a bank branch manager...very distinguished, yet, slovenly...)
This is the last time I will blog about the cat. I am not one of those people.Posted by Jessica at December 8, 2004 01:30 AM | TrackBack