We lost our dear cat Mehitabel around Easter. When she passed away we decided we would not get another cat. Mehitabel was a fantastic pet, and while she was always sweet to the kiddos and slept on my feet in the winter, she was also profoundly neurotic and had frequent bouts of bulimia. We adored her, but we did not adore stepping in cold cat vomit before our morning coffee fix.
We missed her. We missed her greatly - but not enough to adopt another feline. Then, as will happen in rural 150-year-old homes, the mice began to sneak through the cracks and leave little presents for us and we immediately changed our minds about adopting another pet.
I'll take cat puke over mouse nuggets ANY day of the week, thankyouverymuch.
A few days ago we gathered up the kidlets and drove to Lollypop Farms to pick out a new cat: a mousing cat, to be exact. Mehitabel was a phenomenal mouser. Sometimes we could hear her rattling around in dark corners in the wee hours, and in the morning we would find evidence of a terrific battle. Mehitabel always won.
At the animal shelter we waited in a small reception room while the volunteer at Lollypop Farm brought in the first of three cats with whom we had requested a meeting. Ginger was all white with grey spots. She ran to the bench and hid under it for the duration of our time with her, which we took as an indication that she probably will not favor peanut-butter coated children.
The second cat we wanted to meet was "any one of the three black three-month old kittens." The volunteer came in the small room with two of the three (the third jumped back into the cage as she tried to pull her from it.) Kitten number one ran under the bench and hid when she heard the squealing kidlets. Kitten number two ran to Adam and tackled him. Adam laughed. K#2 bounded around the room, swatted Elizabeth in the butt twice and lunged for the pipe cleaner she was holding. This playful interaction between our kidlets and K#2 continued for about five minutes, when we finally requested the opportunity to see the last cat on our list: A tiny torti.
She had an unbelievably sweet disposition. She allowed the kids to maul her for five minutes and purred the whole time. However, she was bony and had weepy eyes. I worried (understandably) about the health of such a delicate creature being thrust into a home with two excitable children and an excitable dog.
I told the volunteer what we already knew: We'd take the kitten who tackled Adam like he was a football. Any cat who hunts toddlers won't have a problem catching mice.
Win.
And that's her name. Winnie. The shelter named her, and I've stuck with it. Elizabeth has changed the name a dozen times already: Sparkles, Princess, Belle, Pinky, Bon-bon, Stinky Bones and even Mehitabel Two.
I'm sticking with Winnie.
She had a little accident in the carrier and I had to bathe the stench off her when we got home, but she took to water like a - well - she didn't really take to the water, but she tolerated it reasonably well, and I wrapped her in a fluffy white towel to present her to the kids.
They squealed. They giggled. They clapped their hands and hopped about, asking if they could hold her. I opened the towel and the cat did that little hoppity-hoppity arched-back dance thing that kittens do when they're about to attack and the kids screamed as though I had just unleashed a starving panther on their asses.
The kitten ran over to their toes and batted at them with whispered ferocity: like the tickle of an angel wing.
Elizabeth cried. Adam shrieked and hid in the corner.
This animal weighs less than one pound, barely makes a sound when it meows and my toddler spawn are deathly afraid of it. For a moment I wondered if I could use the kitten as a threat for misbehavior.
"Elizabeth, clean your room or I will release the kitten on you!"
"Adam, if you don't stop beating your sister with the croquet mallet, I will let the kitten bat your toes!"
But I ultimately decided that it would not be a great idea to raise kitten-fearing children. They might be labeled as wimps, and I didn't want to be blamed for raising the first (and only) skittish Pipers in the history of the world.
The kitten stalks the children, the dog, both Brian and I, and has cornered one screaming child, a whimpering dog and fourteen bugs. I have not seen evidence of a single mouse since she entered the home.
I am calling the adoption of Winnie a total success.
Enjoy the weekend!
