Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Price of Winning!
The other day, we stopped in at Petsmart for cat and dog food. He headed to the dog section, leaving me to ponder the difference between “Mixed Grill” canned cat food and “Supreme Supper.” He was finished first, and pushing a cart with eighty pounds of dog food, he joined me. “I’ve been looking for you. I thought you might be looking at the kittens.” He knew immediately he had made a grave error, but at that point, it was just too late. He cringed as he saw my face light up. “They have KITTENS?”
I’m sure the cart left skid marks as he tried to keep up with me. I was in heaven as I perused the bevy of fluffy kittens, each one cuter than the last. I always have to read their little stories that the shelter provides, even though they usually make me cry. Now, at this point, it’s important to know that I am drawn to the most pathetic animals which have the least chance of being adopted. That day, it was a little striped kitten named Edgar. His sheet said that he had fallen on his head, developed a seroma (build-up of fluid) and they didn’t “think” there was any long term damage. Now, I’m all for being honest, but this little disclosure was probably keeping anyone from adopting him. Who would want a brain-damaged kitten? Hmmm. “Let’s get going,” I heard through my kitten-induced fog. I begrudgingly said goodbye to Edgar and headed to the checkout.
The next day, after a decent amount of discussing, reasoning, and begging, he relented and told me I could go get Edgar. The shelter had to approve me, which amounted to one phone call to a reference, and deciding I “looked like a nice person.” It helps to look horrified when they ask if you plan to have the cat de-clawed. So, Edgar got to come home with me.
Elaine, you got your way and have a new kitten. How can there be any drawbacks? Ah, this is where the price of winning comes in. I have lost the right to complain. So, when Eddie (Edgar was a little formal) runs amuck through our house, all I can do is shrug my shoulders. When he skidded across the dining room table taking the silk floral arrangement with him, I just watched silently. When he dashed across the loveseat where I was sitting, jumping into the bowl of popcorn I was eating, causing half the popcorn to fly up in the air, I knew I wouldn’t get any sympathy. And, when I noticed the “toy” Eddie (I was calling him Eddie Haskell by this time) was playing with on the kitchen floor was actually my four hundred dollar pair of sunglasses, all I could say was “Gee, I need to remember not to leave those out.” When he systematically sent every flower pot on the windowsill crashing to the floor, I knew it would be my job to clean up. And, when sixty-five-pound Bear walked by with Eddie wrapped around his back leg, all I could do was mouth the words “I’m sorry.”
I have since put in place a self-imposed ban on stepping into Petsmart. Did I mention that Eddie was the second kitten I adopted from there? That’s right; there are two cats in our home I cannot complain about. The vet looked over Eddie and gave him a clean bill of health, with no sign of brain damage. I wasn’t surprised…but there are people in this house who think it's time for me to get a check-up.