Expanding the Family

My cat, Crusty, a squawky, tiny little black beast, passed away of old age one fall a half a dozen years back. With one kid in diapers and another in the midst of potty training, scooping a new kitty's poop wasn't something I was eager to add back into my daily tasks.

Four summers ago, I started feeling I would be ready for a cat in the family soon. I started regularly perusing the local animal control's web page, and showing the variety of furry felines to my family. I knew I didn't want a kitten (too energetic) and I didn't want a male so one day I shot a message over to animal control's Facebook page, to ask if they had any adult, female cats currently in that could handle two young kids and a dog, and ideally was not too skittish or too energetic.

I didn't expect to hear back, but that evening, a message popped up, telling me to check out "Moggie" if I came in. They said she was friendly, affectionate and loved everyone. I looked her up on the website. She was a scrawny tortoiseshell, cranky looking in her kitty mugshot.

Still, I was excited about the possibility of having a cat in the home again and all the wonderful things that would entail, like stealing my seat whenever I get up and meowing for food three hours before dinner time. The next day we grabbed the cat carrier from the garage, packed the kids in the minivan, and hoppped on the highway to the animal shelter on the other side of town.

It was a cool Saturday in November, and I expected the shelter to be busy, but it was nearly empty when we arrived, so we were immediately shooed into a room with rows upon rows of cat kennels and told to call a volunteer when we picked one we'd like to see.

I peered in Moggie's cage first. She was curled up asleep, only her bony back visible. We looked around at the other cages, and my kids suggested cats they wanted to see. It was mostly kittens, which I vehemently refused.

We let Moggie sleep, and asked first to see a fat, bright orange tabby. The volunteer escorted us to a cement room with a metal bench against one wall and went to get the tabby. When they plopped the cat in the room with us a few minutes later, it went over to my daughter, let her pet it for a moment, ignoring the rest of us. My daughter begged that we immediately take it home with us. Instead, we knocked on the door and asked to see another cat.

The next fluffy feline was another orange tabby, this one with long fur like fire. They put us in the room again and brought him in. He walked a long circle around us, and began to scratch his claws on the painted cinderblock wall. Then he wandered back to the door and meowed to be released. Not the cat for us.

At this point, Moggie was still asleep, but we asked to see her anyway. A few minutes later, they brought her in and, in spite of her recent and rude awakening, she walked immediately to the center of our group of four and began rubbing against our hands, taking turns moving from me to my husband to my kids. She did not mind the over-eager thumping pets of our four year old son or the delighted cries of our daughter. Instead, she laid down between all of us and began to purr.

That was three years ago, and since we've discovered Moggie (now Maggie) was only a scrawny cat from being stray. She's turned into a plump and friendly beast, who loves to try to cuddle our dog and lay in windows where she can watch birds. She's the kind of cat who takes turns sleeping in every bed for a few hours each night and wakes up from naps whenever there is a visitor so she can get pets from a new person.

When we rescued her from the shelter, they told us she was about four years old, seemed to have been a stray all her life, and had given birth to at least a few litters before being brought in and fixed. She must not miss that life, because if you leave a door open in our house, she'll wander up to it, peer out and then wander off to the nearest warm spot inside to go to sleep. She can be a pain, the way cats are. She loves to lay on my feet at night, after she's attacked them, and is known to dishevel nightstands if you don't get up in time to feed her breakfast.

Next time you adopt a pet, ask the volunteers who have been taking care of them. We'd never have looked at Maggie twice, and now we can't imagine our life without her.