This spring I finally relented and suggested we should start looking for a Tessie replacement - life is too short to not have it graced with that possibility. The missus and my youngest, who consider themselves cat coinnisseurs, would have been happy to settle for just any cat. However, I am fussy. It had to be female (Whittaker our old boy, is jealous and marks his territory if he feels the slightest threatened -- read, pees on the furniture). It had to be adult, tabby, demonstratively loving, docile - in short it had to be a Tessie clone. Doesn't sound like a tall order does it? Well, we visited several different pet shelters on a regular basis, and perused Kijiji for adoptable kitties. We even went and visited one cat in an acquaintance-of-an-acquaintance's home for a good hour one evening. Nobody seemed to click as the one.
Two weeks ago we stopped at our local humane society, once more. There was a litter of kittens, just freshly dropped off. Five months old, they were all the spitting image of our beloved Tessie. Problem was they were all males. They were extremely affectionate and docile. We spent quite a while with them that afternoon, but I was not really convinced - remember my criteria list. Oh yes and I must mention, these kittens were all multi-toed (polydactyl), not just an extra one or two, but whole clumps of extras on each foot. I don't want to say deformed, but the attendant suggested that it was likely the result of a shallow gene pool (I'm my own grandpa syndrome).
|Those aren't paws, they're snowshoes!|
So we thought on it for a week. Last Sunday we walked back up to the shelter and spent the afternoon again, with one particular little chap. He was quite content to lay on our laps and sleep, and he was most definitely demonstratively affectionate, when awake - never been so feline-kissed and bunted, not even by Tessie at her most amorous. We were pretty badly smitten. In a moment of weakness, we signed the adoption papers. But he had to be neutered and inoculated before he could come home.
|Stalking Whittaker, who is not impressed.|
Tuesday we get a call from the shelter, would we like to foster the kitty until Sunday, when he must return for his date with the vet? I tried to stand firm, but I was a tower of playdough against the forces of my family. Wesley came home. And oh what fun! He's too purrfect - I keep thinking he'll probably die on the operating table.
|A contented wee chappy|
And that is all I have to say for today.
Musings and meanderings from the Musical Gardener.