Since my daughter’s arrival, I’ve been plagued with soulful, pleading requests for a cat. We already have four cats on this property (neighbours), so I was not keen to get one. They’re also expensive (vet bills) and at this stage in my life, I’m not keen to shoulder that burden.
I said no. But as a measure of comfort, I suggested we could look into fostering some? (You get given the food, and the cats go back to the SPCA when they’re ready for adoption). We applied. It took a torturously long time to get a response, despite diligent following up with the SPCA about the status of our application…
And then early in the morning last week, exactly a week ago, a day after we got an email from the SPCA approving our application in principle, I woke to a very loud meowing outside. I opened the door… and a little black kitten shot through the door! OMG. Little kitty was every so friendly, so very purry, and so very hungry…..!
My daughter was overjoyed. A little purry, furry thing to play with, at last!
We asked the neighbours if he was theirs? No. In fact, he had turned up at their doorstep first, terrorised the other cats in the house, eaten all their food, and then got booted out when they left for work. They did not want him.
How could I turn him out when I’d already said we could foster a cat? And here was one, voluntarily, at our door!
We posted “found” flyers in the letterboxes all down the road. We posted a notice on facebook and petsonthenet (a NZ lost/found pet website). We phoned the local vet to see if someone might have reported him missing. Nothing.
Did no one want such a gorgeous, playful, intelligent kitty?
Mr Duskie (yes, he has a name now… you can see where this is going can’t you?) set to work making himself as useful as possible. He is the Moth Destroyer Extraordinaire. He plays (at bit too much). He has the deepest, most “awww” rumbling purrs. He is silken suppleness, very soft, very, very clean, and he learns very fast (yarn is Out of Bounds). Most especially appealing is his rare smoky, black, tabby coat. He eats a little too much, and he loves chicken. Especially raw chicken wings which he retires to behind the TV to eat, crunching and slurping and growling (the vet tells me they’re good fibre for digestion and act as teeth cleaners).
Mentioning him to friends, someone suggested that as he is an ‘intact’ male (probably about 5 months old), it is highly likely he comes from a litter where they could not find him a home. His previous owners are probably pleased he’s gone off to seek his fortune.
The kids adore him. Eric spends hours playing ‘catch the mouse’ with him. Sylvia enjoys the cuddles.
I guess you could say we now have a cat. Unless his previous owners somehow turn up.