Probably I’m anthropomorphising but I’ve been obsessed all summer with getting a kitten for Minou. He seems lonely and bored, and Toby only comes in to eat, say rude things to him, and leaves for his secret destination, wherever it is that he spends 99% of his non-eating time.
All summer I’ve searched for the perfect kitten and the perfect time to get one. Not before I went to France, not before I went to Bainbridge, not when I’d have house guests or a noisy party. Not while the local Humane Society was infested with ringworm. Finally, last weekend, I decided the time had come, before kitten season was over. I went and picked out what seemed to be the best available kitten, although I wasn’t in love with any of them.
She was a tiny thing, weighing only 2.2 pounds. She purred when I held her, and seemed sweet enough. And then I brought her home. She met Minou, who weighs in at a solid 13 pounds, and all hell broke loose. Minou behaved himself quite well, but the kitten screamed and shrieked at him. He went outside in self-defense, she settled down.
That night she slept by my pillow in the place that Minou usually occupies from around 5 a.m. until I get up. He jumped on the bed in the morning and I awoke to an unearthly scream. Partly that was me, because when I’m sound asleep and someone screams right in my ear, I’m inclined to join in the chorus. Minou jumped down and ran for the hills.
Later that morning I realized that he had a bleeding gash on his neck, my sweet Minou who never fights at all. I put the kitten back in her box and returned her to the Humane Society, not 24 hours after adopting her, without remorse. Minou acted traumatized for a couple of days, and I dabbed at his wound with antibiotic gel. Then this morning I saw that in scratching at it he had opened it up much more than the original gash, and it was actually pretty gory, Off to the vet he went.
He got stitches. He got a cone. I got a bill for $250, in addition to the $95 I had paid to adopt that kitten. But all of that is just an aside to how freaked out, like totally psycho-nutjob, he is now. The cone makes him crazy, makes him try to get it off by batting his head against the wall. They said to keep him inside, which means closing the cat door. Now he can’t get out, has to remember how to use a litter box, and Toby has no way to come in for food. The whole balance of life in our house is topsy-turvy.
And all as a result of the fact that I probably projected my own loneliness onto Minou. I’m desperately hoping that things will settle down. And that’s definitely the end of the add-a-kitten program for this year. Be careful what you wish for, someone wise said that.