The Pondering Absurdist

Around the beginning of October, 2023, I decided that I was going to go to the pound (what us older folks used to call the County Animal Shelter here in these parts) and pick up two (2, the number after 1) kittens to adopt. I had already pre-selected the ones I wanted from their photos on the Animal Shelter’s website. Both of the kittens that I had pre-selected were the same age (about 4 months old), and had been brought in the same day, so I assumed that they were sisters (sorry, boys, but I only do female cats now… I don’t want the drama of a boy cat pissing on my furniture, walls, windows, etc., “fixed” or not… been there, done that, in the distant past). When I got to the animal shelter, I asked to see the two kittens that I had chosen to adopt. I had already brought my cat carriers with me… if they were still there when I arrived, they were going home with me regardless! When I first saw the little cuties in their cage together, I was sure I had made the right decision. One of them was easy enough to reach in and get hold of to pull her from the cage. She was all black, and a little bit smaller than the other. When I pulled her out of the cage and held her, she seemed friendly enough, even purring a little bit. However, she had a little “bump” on her tummy that didn’t look normal. The other cat, the all grey one, was impossible to get hold of. She would run quickly away whenever a hand came near her. Finally, she was cornered and pulled out of the cage. Unlike the black one, she did not appear to be friendly, she appeared to be scared out of her gourd! Poor baby… I thought she would be okay once she came home with me, an older guy who lived alone with no noisy children to terrorize her. In addition to my heart melting on the spot, I just couldn’t imagine tearing her away from her “sister,” so I had to make sure that I got both of them. Because of the bump on the black one’s belly, the county employee said they would check with the Vet to see if it was okay, or if something else needed to happen before I could adopt her. While I was waiting for the response, I was still in the room with the cages of some of the other kittens available for adoption. I noticed another “black” looking kitten in a cage by herself nearby. The information about her said that she was only about 2 months older (6 months) than the other two kittens I was planning to adopt. She was also very cute, and seemed to be calling out to me emotionally (though, without much sound… this will come into the picture later). I thought to myself, “well, two is already good, what’s wrong with just one more?” So, I decided to adopt a third kitten as well. The more, the merrier, right? If they had taken any longer to get the answer from the Vet, I might have a house FULL of cats now… I just can’t resist their cuteness (and their sad story, being in a shelter and not in someone’s home!). When the employee finally came back with the answer, it turned out that I had to leave the little black one there, for observation and to make sure she was okay (the bump was in the area where they had spayed her, and apparently was just a little surface hernia or something). They told me that I could come back and pick her up in a couple of days. In the meantime, I was free to take the other (two, now) girls home that day, after I paid all the fees required, and signed documents affirming that I would take care of them until death do us part, or something like that.

The 13.7 mile ride home in the car was actually not that bad. One of my other cats from a couple years previous always sounded like I was torturing her throughout any ride in a vehicle. These two were fairly quiet, with the little grey one complaining just a little bit. Once we got to their new home, I followed the recommended procedure and kept them in one small room together to make them feel more secure. I had everything in the room for them already… food, water, a litter box, and some toys. Though I was able to stay with them that day, I had to get these little suckers used to the fact that I needed to be outside of the home, at work, for over 8 hours per day… at a very minimum to keep them supplied in cat food. So, they stayed shut into their little room for a couple days. I would visit them when I got home from work, and feed them “the good stuff” (dry food while I was away, and canned wet food when I was at home), clean their litter box, and try to play with them as much as they would let me. In a couple of days I was able to go pick up the “sister” and bring her home too. She made slightly more noise during the car ride home, but it wasn’t too bad. It didn’t sound like I was slitting her throat all the way home.

Within a few days my three new girls received names. The smallest, the black one, just seemed like a “Simba,” because of her personality and attitude. I know that it’s a boy’s name in The Lion King, but my Simba is a girl. The grey one became “Mila” (a Russian variation of “sweet” or “cute”), and the oldest (by two months) became “Ginger,” because of the cream/tan/ginger colored, right rear foot (it turned out she is a tortoiseshell calico, or “tortie”).

As all of them have grown over the past 16 months or so, each of their individual personalities has revealed itself to me. Each of them is different, with their own little quirks, each of them has foods they prefer, or not, and each of them is (hopefully) still growing their characters as they get older. Though at times I’ve been frustrated by one, or all three of them, I love them more each day, and more than a lot of humans I come in contact with. With cats, or any animals other than humans for that matter, there is no pretense… what you see is what you get. Every so often I think to myself (I know, it’s morbid…), “I wonder which one of these girls would take a bite out of me first if I died in the home alone with them and they had no more food.” I think I know who it would be, but I don’t want to find out!

I’m not so sure any more that any of the cats are related. Though they shared a cage at the pound and are about the same age, Simba and Mila are definitely different sizes now, and they have different bone structures. Though Ginger is the oldest, by two months, Mila has grown to have the largest frame of all. Each of my girls will get her own post at some point soon, since I know that blogs shouldn’t be novels or you will lose your readers’ attention. I’ll talk about each of their characters, the little things that please me and annoy me about each of them, and I’ll share a few photos of them as individuals. Until then, stay tuned if you’re a cat lover!

PA