Thursday, June 4

Inflicting Torture

I really want a cat.  I really want a little furry feline.  Badly.

So you know what's fun?  Checking out all the gatos on Craigslist needing homes.

I could take him home.  Oh, I can't leave his brother.  He'll come too.

I'm going to be that lady.  No boyfriend, all cats.  I'll be a raid house.

Why do I do this to myself?  Good question.  I miss not having a creature around.

Growing up we were cat people.  My mom acquired Fuzz right after she and my dad got hitched.  And that one lasted forever.  Then there was Tom, this big tomcat.  I swear, he was the Bouncer for the cat nightclub, he was that big.  And now there's Rocket.  aka Rockefeller.  aka Psycho.  Ever wanted to know if ginger cats act like their ginger human counterparts....they do.  But let's not go down that path.

My point.  It's weird not having a cat in the house.  Nothing to avoid at the top of the stairs because that's the most comfortable place to sleep.  No food bowls to refill in the kitchen.  No (with Rocket, rare) instances of wanting to crawl up on your lap and get some affection in.  No one to laugh at when they chase a fly around the room.  And no one to give treats to when they catch that fly after making a Mission Impossible jump off the hearth.

Can I hold out and not secretly rescue a gato while wook's on base?  We'll see.

I'd like to think that I have will power.  Then again, I've seen myself at a shoe sale.

But as long as I can keep the financial aspect of rescuing a cat at the forefront (think check-up bills, spay/neutering bills, etc.), I think the lid will be secure.

Then again....two words: shoe sale.

1 comment:

  1. Bad Bob! Stop it! I've had to resist the urge to look up brothers for my puppy for the same reason. You're not helping yourself by looking at all the poor little kitty babies who need homes.