I have two reasons for writing today. The one that I’m probably the only one to care about is that I’m trying to establish writing at least a little bit every day. Over there on the right I say that this is the place where I write whatever the hell I feel like. I fully understand that just because I write it doesn’t mean you want to read it. I’m grateful to those who do and hope you get something out of the experience. If you don’t, you aren’t going to insult me by not reading. You should only do things when you get something out of it. Even if it’s just a sense of smug superiority. I decided a long time ago that the purpose of my life was to serve as a cautionary tale to others. I’m OK with that.
The main reason I’m writing, though, is because I completely understand if your reaction to yesterday’s post was “Yes, yes, yes, journey of self-discovery and heartfelt self-disclosure, blah, blah, blah. But what’s happening with the cats, man! That’s what I want to know about!” You have a point. There are priorities, after all.
So here’s the deal. Porter’s essentially OK, but he’s not quite getting the level of overstimulation he’s used to. Like the rest of us, you can tell that there are times he starts looking for Bock and then realizes he’s not here. He’s clearly enjoying getting our undivided attention and he does seem to amuse himself just fine.
The big news is the little guy over to the right. He doesn’t know it yet, but his name is Dunkel. He’s going to find out sometime this afternoon. We went over to the mind-blowingly amazing Boone County Animal Shelter last night and were introduced to him. He’s six-months old and is in a wonderful foster home with other cats and dogs. He’s great with them. You see the white fur behind him? That’s a cat who’s lost the use of her back legs. Dunkel has become attached to her and routinely grooms her. Since coming into the shelter can be a bit stressful, the foster caregivers thought he might do better with a buddy around. I could see Porter doing that.
So many of the descriptions of his personality sound like Porter. I’m going into this optimistically, but I’d be lying if I said Carla and I aren’t a little nervous. It’s unrealistic to expect love at first site — we’re talking about cats here — but am I going to see a side of my sweet little boy I’ve never seen? We do know that Porter’s littermate and sister Chunk (who owns the woman who introduced Bock and Porter into our lives) is pretty accepting of other cats and dogs, so I’m not worried about genetic predisposition. This is probably just pre-first-date jitters. I remember those. All my old dates probably do too. Their worst fears were realized, after all.
So the plan is that later on this afternoon we’ll meet the foster caregivers over at the shelter and do the paperwork for a trial adoption. We have this elaborate plan involving keeping Dunkel in Carla’s bathroom (well appointed with all the comforts a cat could need) and rigging things so that Porter will be eating and using a litter pan right outside the door. The idea is to get them used to the idea there’s another cat and get them accustomed to the smells. Then, starting tomorrow, we’re going to wing it.
I’ll let you know. I’m excited. I’m scared. And I’m still a little sad. But I’m mostly excited.