Happy Mother's Day - Free Kitties For Everyone

By Lara

Sunday was my 30th birthday. Ironically, I have chosen to put the Year of the Birthday adventures on the back burner in order to celebrate a far more important holiday. Today was all about Mother's Day in my family.

When I moved out of my parents' house several years ago, I took my cat Toby with me. According to my mother, however, I stole her kitten. That is her story, and she repeats her version to whomever will listen.Toby is fun, but he is also a consummate beast. In the last week alone, he has destroyed a keyboard, my big red rubber ball, and a boquet of silk lilacs. He tried to chew a hole in the milk carton on Friday morning. My mother should be happy that I have removed such a creature from her home, but she isn't.

Mom has been trying to convince my father to get another cat since Pumpkin died last summer. Dad told her that he would welcome another cat with open arms... so long as it didn't shed fur... or throw up hairballs... or poop.

On Thursday, I met Dad for dinner. I told him about the cat that my boss has been trying to place. He's a neutered male gray tabby about three years old with all of his shots. Dad stared straight ahead and chewed his hamburger. He's really sweet and loves to be around people. Dad put more salt on his French fries. He's been staying with a co-worker as a favor to my boss. Dad took a sip from his soda. He even caught a mouse in Kevin's basement. Dad told me that he would consider my proposal.

Within the hour, we were at Target picking out a litter box, food dishes, and toys.

The last thing I did before bed yesterday was wrap the kitty accouterments. This was difficult for several reasons: litter boxes are cumbersome and shaped awkwardly; kitty litter itself is heavy; Toby kept trying to rip a hole in the cat food bag.

Mom's present spent the night in the reading room closet being guarded by the vacuum cleaner. You'll be happy to know that it survived. I think the vacuum cleaner had something to do with it. Toby proved at Christmas that, with enough time and motivation, he is able to open that closet door.

When Mom came to my house for lunch, I told her we had an appointment at three o'clock. She was a little worried when I wouldn't tell her what was going on.

At precisely 2:50, we were in the Walmart parking lot standing outside my car. My boss pulled up next to us and handed over the cat. It must have looked like a shady transaction from an outsider's perspective, but Mom was excited. She talked to the kitty all the way home.

We spent about two hours trying to come up with a name. It's hard to think of good names for your cat when all you've seen him do is slink out of the carrier, hide behind the toilet, and disappear. Dad finally surmised that the moving target he was gently poking with a broom under the dresser was, in fact, the cat. Mom is letting him explore the house at his own pace.

She still hasn't settled on a name. I'm campaigning for "Triscuit." He looks like a Triscuit... not because he's tan or checked or anything. He just looks like that should be his name.

Mom called me about fifteen minutes ago to say that Triscuit jumped up on the bed. She went on to describe all of his activities in detail. I think she's had a satisfactory Mother's Day. As for Dad, he's just going to have to accept the fact that cats shed fur, throw up hairballs, and poop.