Yeah so in terms of the cats…I should really write this down since I say it a lot, but rewind 2 yrs back there’s a mouse problem at my NYC apt–gross but typical–the weird cat caretaker roommate we had is gone for the last 3 months, and then one day… I saw a mouse.
It was a day I was first to get home, new roommate was out, partner also out, it’s just me. I’m tired, I had a long commute, and I just want to sit down with a nice cuppa and channel surf on the internet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dirt colored blur. I tense up. I squint. It’s a brownish blob…with a tail??? A scream gets stuck in my throat as I go into a full on freak out. I’m up on the counter, trying to throw non-food items at it (mostly tissue wads), yelling at it to stop getting its grossness everywhere…none of this works obv.
So the next day, when I am no longer home alone and have regained my mental footing, I start looking to foster a cat. Searching for foster programs; applying left and right; going to adopt-a-palooza, a giant adopt-a-thon that takes place yearly in union square…
A few weeks after hitting up adopt-a-palooza, I get a text message, several photos of a box of teensy weensy kittens, and a proposition to foster.
After some convincing that one cannot foster just one kitten because they’ll be socially awkward, I agree to 2. Foster lady shows up with kittens in tow, and says there’s a litter of 5. And the other foster-er lives in a smaller apartment. Can I take three?
Implication that one will be left. Alone. And awkward. 3 isn’t too much more work than 2, and I’ll be given all the supplies.
I agree.
I ask if they have names. Foster lady Cecile pauses. “No”
I name them.
AND OBVIOUSLY NOW THAT I NAMED THEM THEY’RE MINE
and here we are.