In March of 2002, I lost the 2nd of three older cats, and the remaining cat (who was 19 and the aunt of the one who had just died) was clearly pining and lonely. But she was also quite timid, so I was worried about how to get her some company. So I decided to get her a kitten.
One. One kitten. Let me be clear about that.
But it was March, which isn't really kitten time, so I had a hard time finding one. Finally, my friend Ellen, a dog groomer who works as local dog warden on the side, told me about some kittens she'd seen at the shelter she used, about 45 minutes away. We went to check it out.
There was a sad-looking, sickly mama cat (Minerva--she'll get her own blog post later) with four kittens: two gray and white, one black and white, and one black. I decided I wanted one of the gray ones, to replace the other cat I'd lost earlier that year. [It was a BAD year.] I thought I knew which one I wanted, but he was solidly asleep and wouldn't wake up so I could get a better look at him. We worried there might be something wrong with him, so I decided I'd come back another time. (Note: It turns out he just sleeps like a rock. A large gray rock.)
Before we could leave, the little black kitten shoved her way to the front of the cage, looked me in the eye, and said something assertively in kitten that sounded distinctly like, "You can take my stupid brother too if you want to, but I am DEFINITELY going home with you." There was simply no arguing with her. Then or now, frankly.
So I thought, "Well, if I get two kittens, they'll keep each other company, and not torment the older cat as much. Makes sense. I'll get two."
Of course, when I came back the next time, the shelter folks told me that the mama cat was terrified and sickly, and would be next to impossible to place. They wanted to know if I'd consider taking her, if they threw her in with no fees. A bonus cat, if you will.
I said no. About twelve times. She came home with me anyway. But that's her story.
Either way, I ended up with two kittens and one mama cat--a whole family--instead of the one kitten I intended to get. Luckiest day of my life, really. In fact, Magic the Cat is sitting on my lap as I type this, purring like a maniac.
And somehow, inconceivably, she and her brother Mystic turn ten today. They used to be so tiny and cute:
They're still pretty cute, but no longer tiny. Especially Mystic, who is a gigantic boy whose shoulders are about 2 inches higher than everyone else's, and who weighs almost 17 pounds. (Magic is about 11, to give you the contrast.) Of course, looking at the size of his paws when he was a kitten, I should have seen that one coming.
Here's the Furball Gang today. That's Mystic on the left, Magic on the right, and Minerva lurking in the background.
Happy birthday, babies! I love you.
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