Never Say Never

A few weeks ago, our new baby came home--and it's a girl this time! A tiny, cuddly, furry girl. Yes, that's right. I said furry. Cats are furry. Oh, wait...you didn't think that I...? Oh, now that's just silly!

We found our new baby girl cat, named Opal, at our local SPCA -- a phenomenal place that treats the animals with such care and dignity. We found Opal in one of two rooms set up for cats to 'roam' and visit with people and other kitties. They had benches with cat beds, faux open drawers with cat beds, tall bookshelf-type configurations that the cats could climb on -- very impressive. Our little Opal, who is two years old and a gray/black tabby with 'splashes' of orange and white mixed in her fur, found us when we came in the room. She eyed my hubs and as he says, 'called to him' with those eyes. Unlike the other cats in the room, she was all about us. The rest tried to pretend we weren't there, feigning sleep. She let us pet her and purred--she even let the boys pet her, who aren't known for being 'calm,' if you know what I mean. When we took her in a private room, she sat on everyone's lap and continued to purr. We knew right away she was the one.

The Boogah and Blue are beside themselves with joy over our newest family member, and I must admit, I am, too. She's everything you'd hope a cat would be: playful, cuddly, and patient (especially when the boys shower her with a bit too much attention). Some might say she's on the needy side for a cat, and for some reason, she has a great fondness for her litter box--I think she goes in there to do her business (several times a day) just for something to do when she's feeling a bit bored. We've become very familiar with the litter scooper over the past few weeks, but I think changing her food from 'indoor formula' (i.e., too much fiber) to the regular kind will help a little. (Too much info? Sorry, but all new mothers talk endlessly about one of three things: lack of sleep, feeding or poop. And since my new baby sleeps well, I guess I must talk about feeding and poop--endlessly. Lucky you!)

I didn't want any more cats. We've had our fair share of less than perfect kitties--and they were tabby cats, too! However, my boys have been asking for a pet for quite a while now--more like periodic, desperate begging actually. So, when they had worn me down as much as I could be worn down on the subject, I asked them, "Ok, well IF we get a pet, what would you like to have best? A dog or a cat?" Well, being young boys, you'd think they'd say dog, but they both, in unison, chanted, "cat! cat! cat!" Ugh! I cringed. Memories of cat pee in the corners of the living room, of stepping in cat vomit in the middle of the night on my way to the bathroom, and of down right cat meanness--viscious bites when all I was doing was petting the thing--came flooding back to me. But, my husband and I concluded that a cat would be slightly easier than a dog--no petsitter or boarding when we go out of town for the weekend, no poop covering the yard, etc. So, we acquiesced. I did endless 'research' that landed us one Saturday morning in April at the SPCA. And now, that it is all said and done, I'm so glad we did it. She has brought my little family copious amounts of happiness.

The day before we found her, I had some rough news about the health of my oldest and closest friend. I was walking on shakey ground after the shock of this news, and needed something to help me through those first few days. I was given a small touch of grace wrapped up in a furry, striped little package. Her warm little body curled up on my lap, purring softly was such a great comfort that week--and continues to be now.

I guess I've learned another life lesson: never say never. What you say you don't want, might be just what you need.

Right now, what I need is to go scoop the litter--again, but I'll do it with a smile. She's worth it.

Inspiration

I have to admit it. This morning, I had a less than enthusiastic attitude when I walked into the gym. I was tired, irritable, and my muscles ached slightly from an over-zealous training session a couple days earlier. It was all I could do to drag myself in there, but as I was thinking about how I’d rather be at Starbucks, I saw Jack* and things began to shift.

I’ve been a member of my gym for over two years now, and almost every time go, I see Jack. I think he’s at the gym for a workout just about every day--and every day he’s smiling and chatting it up with his fellow ’regulars.’ Being the introvert that I am, I’ve only chatted with Jack a couple of times, but each time I felt a little flattered that he chose to speak to me, to include me in his circle of gym friends--even if it was for a brief moment. Today, however, Jack was focused more on his workout than chit chat. Despite being on the elliptical machine next to mine, he kept the talking to a minimum and got right to work. I peddled along beside him, feeling quite proud to be working out with Jack. (OK, so we weren’t actually working out together, but it was close enough.) After Jack and I finished on the elliptical, I headed to the treadmills while he stopped off for a quick go on the recumbent bike. Once finished there, Jack joined me on the mills. This time, he was a few machines away, but it didn’t matter. I could still keep my eye on him. As I plugged along attempting to finish my mileage, Jack busied himself with intervals. Walk two minutes, jog five, walk one, jog seven, etc. Out of the corner of my eye, I marveled at him. His stamina, his charm, his dedication to keeping fit, all worthy of admiration. And this morning, by ‘working out’ with Jack, my attitude began to change. Soon, I didn’t dread the rest of my run, but rather, I reveled in it. I was no longer irritable, I was inspired. However, I did have one regret as I left the gym: that I hadn’t wished Jack a happy birthday last week--when he turned 81.

*Name has been changed.