CAT-aclysmic Changes

I am not a pet person. Never have been. We had 2 dogs growing up--first a cockapoo, then a rottweiler. Butch and Roxie. I petted them collectively about 10 times. A few years ago, I consented to letting my kids get some fish. I was thinking with my wicked little laugh (Wah, hah, hah, haa) that I was totally tricking them. They would think they were getting a "real" pet and be satisfied. In a few weeks, the fish would die and--wallah! No more begging. Well, after a few weeks, the fish indeed passed into a new and better place. I still ended up getting the raw end of the deal, though. Their nagging died along with the fish, but so did their desire to clean up pet messes. The tank sat. And sat. And sat. And I nagged. And nagged. And nagged. FINALLY, when the tank looked brown and disgusting, they started to fear that the tank was contaminating the air in their room. Concern for their very lives motivated Joseph to clean the tank. The problem is, he carried it a few feet and tripped. It's now like slow motion in my mind....NNNNOOOOOOOOOOO. All of the bacteria infested water, hundreds of dirty little pebbles, and the fish poo remnants sploshed out onto the carpet. As we sponged, picked, sucked, and scrubbed, I informed the kids that my pet days were OFFICIALLY over. For good.

A few months ago, a stray cat started hanging around. He was the neighborhood cat. McKenna called him Rosebud, Tessa called him Socks, and my kids named him Boots. He was constantly catching mice and leaving them as gifts under cars and by front doors. Several people on at least two streets fed him. An old couch sat in our garage waiting for a dump run, and he decided it was a comfy spot to catnap. I was so grateful for all of the mice he was catching I allowed him the privilege of sleeping on our holey couch. I even petted him a few times (running straight inside afterward to scrub my arms and change my clothes).

One night, I noticed he was in our garage when it was time to lock up. He looked cozy, so I decided it wouldn't hurt for him to have a sleepover. Then my kids started praying for him: "We're so thankful for our cat boots, and that he catches mice..." Oh bother. Now, I'm afraid he's become a permanent fixture. The other day I bought my first bag of cat food. I now feed Boots 2X a day. When our couch went to the dump, I sacrificed one of our soft blankets for a cat bed. I make sure to let him out first think in the morning, and I open the garage a crack during the day so he can come and go freely.

Last week, when a neighbor girl asked if we had taken our cat to the vet yet, I felt an anxiety attack coming on. I have definitely not hit that level of commitment yet. But with the changes I've made in the last few months, who's to say.

He's a smart little cat with a festive sense of humor. Just look at where he left his gift for us this morning.