the first 36 hours

I've been a cat owner for a day and a half now, and since neither Rob Roy nor I are dead yet I'm counting it a success.  He actually seems to like it here, but perhaps it's too early to tell for sure.  But he responds to his new name, he wears his new collar without complaint, and he's faithfully used his new litter box even though it turns out to be too small for him (thank the Lord I can return it to Petsmart).  He hasn't destroyed anything yet, hasn't tried to run out the front door, and hasn't spend any time hiding under the furniture to get away from me.  On the contrary, he's quite the spooner. :-)

Rob's definitely taken an interest in the squirrels and birds outside, and loves to sit in the living room bay window and watch the world go by.

And as I'm here writing this post, he's flat on his back napping next to my chair.  Dare I hope he likes it here? :-)

he's here! and he has a new name!

Ladies and gentlemen, introducing.... Rob Roy (the Highland Rogue). :-)

it's a box. you poop in it. next question.

I think the store clerk was about to call 9-1-1 when he saw the catatonic lady (ha! no irony there) in the kitty litter aisle, standing kinda funny with her head tilted to one side, staring blankly at shelf after shelf of her clumping and non-clumping and odor-control and less-mess and multi-cat and environmentally-friendly choices.  Who knew there were so many freakin' varieties of pellets for felines to crap in???  Seriously, for all the talk about cats being low-maintenance, they clearly have some high-maintenance bathroom demands.  Or maybe it's the cat owners who are high maintenance: do they seriously expect me to roll out the red velvet carpet and tap the side of a crystal champagne glass with a sterling silver fork to summon Lord Fat Boy to his sumptuous Fancy Feast? 

Such thoughts (and many more that cannot be typed here) were what went through my mind tonight as I shopped for cat supplies for the first time in my life.  I bought a bed AND a lounger, because I don't know the difference.  I bought food AND treats, because... well, dogs like both, so maybe cats do, too?  I bought a toy, something that wouldn't cause me to jump 10 feet at the accidental sight of it (translation = something that doesn't look like a rodent) or that wouldn't make visitors think my cat was a transvestite (translation = playing with a glittery feather boa).  I bought a comb/brush thing because it was the only blue one on the shelf and I thought, if I need that, I'd better get the one manly color they have left.  And I bought a collar, something to coincide with the new Scottish name I will be bestowing upon Fat Boy very soon... and something with a little bell so that I'll hear him walking around the house and therefore not freak out and reach for the gun should I hear something fall over in the other room.

But all these decisions were nothing compared to the biggest one of all... the litter box.  I could not believe how many insane choices there were -- and they wanted me to pay nearly $200 for some?  I don't think so!!!  Domes, step ladders, two-story condos, pop-up tents...  do people really think their cats need this stuff just to go to the bathroom?  When I wondered aloud about this at the store, another customer came right up to me and started talking about how vulnerable cats feel while answering nature's call and so privacy and security and comfort are essential.  It took all of my self-control not to laugh out loud when I thanked her for her advice...  but I did buy one that had a lid because again, I don't have a clue what I'm doing and maybe she was as right as she was crazy.  After all, I felt vulnerable while shopping for all this stuff, so maybe crazy cat lady had a point...

A water bowl, a food dish, and a portable carrier later, and I have everything I need to bring The Cat-Soon-To-Be-No-Longer-Known-As-Fat-Boy home Friday night.  I think...

name that cat

Just because I may need to purchase a copy of Cat Ownership for Dummies does not mean I'm completely clueless... just mostly.  But this much I know:  a cat who is not fat cannot continue with a name like Fat Boy.  How does he cope?  Isn't his self-esteem shattered by such a label?  I know mine would be.  So to win some brownie points with my new pet, in the profound hope that he won't immediately recognize my ineptitude as hiw new owner, I have decided to bestow upon him a new name, something noble and masculine, one with which he can hold his feline head up high.  And to hopefully score some brownie points with my dog-loving family, this new name is definitely going to be Scottish. :-)

But all I know about renaming pets comes from dogs, and in the dog world you try to make the new name sound similar to the old so that the dog still comes when you call him.  I am told that cats, however, do not have this issue because they don't come when you call them anyway.  Still, the floor is open for your suggestions...

the slippery slope

It's bad enough that I'm in my mid-thirties and still single; add a cat to the mix and I might as well declare myself a spinster for life.  But it's not only the dreaded cliché I've long wished to avoid; my father is heavily allergic to cats and so my siblings and I were raised to be good and faithful, if not puritanical, dog lovers.  Getting a cat amounts to heresy in the Drown family.  (Granted, my brother became a heretic a while ago, but the family writes that off as the in-law's influence.  I have no such excuse.)

Yet this past weekend I met a cat named Fat Boy who needed a home because his family was moving.  Despite being just two years old, declawed, neutered, and most definitely NOT fat, Fat Boy was facing a trip to the Humane Society because no one wanted him.  Now, I have always been a major softy when it comes to pets (you can ask my niece about the sob-fest she witnessed when we watched "Babe: Pig in the City" together), but my blood sugar must've been low that night because I found myself saying, "I'll take him."  And now I must be losing my eyesight because the text I got tonight said, "He's yours - when do you want to take him home?"

So there you have it.  Come Friday night this avowed dog lover will own a cat.  I will be a heretic.  I will be one step further down the slippery slope to permanent spinsterhood.  And I haven't the foggiest idea what I'm doing.  Pray for Fay Boy.  I have a feeling he's going to need it.