As posted in my intro, I'm de-packratting the house, to get ready to be
ruled by a pair of shelter cats.
The adoption process includes a "match a cat with a person" session.
I thought it'd help to bring stories about the cats in my life to the shelter.
This story makes it clear that I knew nothing about cats or how to care
for them.
Six months after we were married, my wife and I decided we wanted
to include cats in our family. I'd just taken a job in a Maryland
suburb of Washington DC; she was finishing a degree in the Chicago
area. On her spring break, we'd found an apartment in a pet-friendly
building. We were both enchanted by Siamese.
We wanted to furnish the place after she moved, so I got just the bare
necessities: a mattress and bed frame, a card table and chair, and a few
cooking and eating utensils.
An ad in a local paper resulted in my buying two pedigreed Siamese
from a man in suburban Virginia. They were about two years old.
I didn't know about cat carriers. The seller gave me a box with some
padding in it. We put cats and box in the car's back seat.
It was early summer in DC, hot and humid. To get from Virginia to
Maryland in the 1960s, you had to cross over one or more rivers on
bridges. There was no beltway then.
My car had bench seats but no air conditioning. I was in DC rush
hour traffic, the windows cracked open so we wouldn't faint from
the heat, and the cats free in the car.
One cat paced back and forth on the seat backs behind my head.
The other (I'm not making this up) was lying under the gas pedal,
somehow avoiding getting scrunched.
The trip took forever, and I can't recall how I got them into the
apartment. Maybe they were good enough to stay in the box.
I'd bought what I thought would help them adjust to their new
home: an alarm clock to put in their box (the ticking was supposed
to reassure them), a ball to play with (much too big), and the usual
feeding and toilet articles.
I thought they'd play with each other and wouldn't get lonesome
while I was at work all day. WRONG! The moment I walked in
the door, they were all over me. I couldn't do anything without my
two "assistants" participating.
But bedtime was the best: when I got into bed, I found myself
looking into two pair of blue eyes staring back, and at least five
pounds of cat on my chest. I think they finally went to sleep in
their box.
Genius that I was, I didn't realize that the cats needed to scratch
on something. They needed a scratching post. The only place
they had was the mattress. So it was getting clawed constantly.
I went to a local pet store and bought a spray that the cats weren't
supposed to like, to spray on the mattress.
They ignored it, and I broke out in hives. That was the clincher.
I found an adoption agency in the local paper, and took the cats
there. If I'd done my homework, that needn't have happened.
ruled by a pair of shelter cats.
The adoption process includes a "match a cat with a person" session.
I thought it'd help to bring stories about the cats in my life to the shelter.
This story makes it clear that I knew nothing about cats or how to care
for them.
Six months after we were married, my wife and I decided we wanted
to include cats in our family. I'd just taken a job in a Maryland
suburb of Washington DC; she was finishing a degree in the Chicago
area. On her spring break, we'd found an apartment in a pet-friendly
building. We were both enchanted by Siamese.
We wanted to furnish the place after she moved, so I got just the bare
necessities: a mattress and bed frame, a card table and chair, and a few
cooking and eating utensils.
An ad in a local paper resulted in my buying two pedigreed Siamese
from a man in suburban Virginia. They were about two years old.
I didn't know about cat carriers. The seller gave me a box with some
padding in it. We put cats and box in the car's back seat.
It was early summer in DC, hot and humid. To get from Virginia to
Maryland in the 1960s, you had to cross over one or more rivers on
bridges. There was no beltway then.
My car had bench seats but no air conditioning. I was in DC rush
hour traffic, the windows cracked open so we wouldn't faint from
the heat, and the cats free in the car.
One cat paced back and forth on the seat backs behind my head.
The other (I'm not making this up) was lying under the gas pedal,
somehow avoiding getting scrunched.
The trip took forever, and I can't recall how I got them into the
apartment. Maybe they were good enough to stay in the box.
I'd bought what I thought would help them adjust to their new
home: an alarm clock to put in their box (the ticking was supposed
to reassure them), a ball to play with (much too big), and the usual
feeding and toilet articles.
I thought they'd play with each other and wouldn't get lonesome
while I was at work all day. WRONG! The moment I walked in
the door, they were all over me. I couldn't do anything without my
two "assistants" participating.
But bedtime was the best: when I got into bed, I found myself
looking into two pair of blue eyes staring back, and at least five
pounds of cat on my chest. I think they finally went to sleep in
their box.
Genius that I was, I didn't realize that the cats needed to scratch
on something. They needed a scratching post. The only place
they had was the mattress. So it was getting clawed constantly.
I went to a local pet store and bought a spray that the cats weren't
supposed to like, to spray on the mattress.
They ignored it, and I broke out in hives. That was the clincher.
I found an adoption agency in the local paper, and took the cats
there. If I'd done my homework, that needn't have happened.