Not to put too fine a point on it, I have a thing for this kitten.
We drop in about once a day and sit with Sadie for twenty minutes, and she spends the entire time purring and head butting us and trying to convince me that it's time for me to give her treats.
I think the thing that's won me over is just how very normal she is. Our three cats constantly chatter, chase each other, fight, jump into the cupboards, get their heads caught in the handles of bags, and steal things out of my purse.
They are happy and healthy and very affectionate, too, but they are complete jerks. The inmates are running the asylum over here.
The thing is even Sadie's poop is cuter than my cats' poop. I scooped her litter box and couldn't help but wonder if the Palinode and I have been cursed to founder under unreasonable piles of scat for some reason.
As I lay on the floor and let Sadie clean my hair this afternoon, I reflected on how I followed her all over the apartment on my hands and knees and how I fantasized a little about switching her out with our neurotic boy Oskar and how weirdly nostalgic I felt about our short visits now that they are coming to an end, and I wondered Am I turning into that creepy cat person who always smells like ammonia? Would I one day spin their fur into yarn to knit little kitty booties for them? Would I make them personalized onesies like they were my babies?
Okay, so I have actually done that last one, but I did it to teach. It was an act of giving.
I realized, though, that I am not in danger of such a thing. I do have my toe just edged over the threshold into the house of cat obsession, but I am diametrically opposed to bedazzled cat sweatshirts and owning any more than the three cats I already have. There are only so many animals I will allow to poo openly inside my home at any given time.
I also realized that my rabble might mellow into a herd of Sadies one day once they work the relative youth out of their systems. In all likelihood, my cats will probably still be jerks at fifteen, but at least hanging out with Sadie gives me something to hang onto.
And, with that, Sadie's person might now be very relieved to get her keys back from me tomorrow.
Need a creepy blogger to take care of your pet and document her unreasonable attachments? I'm your man.