A lazy Friday morning. And everything is so still. Still and quiet as I enjoy this, the last day of my vacation, and I'm a bit glum thinking about having to relinquish my freedom once again come Monday.
It's such a shame vacations are meant to last forever ...
Emma is at her usual position, begging for a scratch beside the computer as I type. And it's no wonder some of these posts take so long for me to complete with constant interruptions to make my little furball happy, content and glad to have been rescued from the animal shelter and brought to our sometimes chaotic though loving home. I smile to think back upon it now.
Emma, was one of those dual Christmas gifts. KC wanted desperately to have a pet and I had gone far too long without one. And so it seemed the perfect solution, find a cat, dress her up with a bow, and bring her home. But finding her wasn't all that easy.
When I was a child, Mom always insisted we get our pets from the animal shelter whenever possible. And though back then I believed her to be biased against those with pedigrees, it always turned out, that the rescued animal, be it dog or cat, always turned out to be the favorite of them all. Whether they were grateful for the rescue, or simply happy to be chosen on personal merit alone, we always managed to find animals full of personality and love.
Not that they always loved everyone equally. Because as far as Brat (a midnight black cat with amber eyes) was concerned there were only two people she loved, my Mom and myself. Anyone else was swattable from atop the kitchen fridge, and worthy of a mighty hiss of attitude.
Sadie however loved everyone, which perhaps was more because she was what one might call the village idiot. She is the only dog I can ever remembering owning too stupid to realize that she'd been hit by a car. Here the frantic driver came rushing to the door with his oh my God's and I'm so sorry's and there's Sadie ambling on over with her short legged gait, tongue and tail wagging away in the wind, with an adorable but completely dumb expression on her face. Stupid but true.
Sadie was so much loved, that Mom eventually handed over ownership to my Grandmother, where she spent the rest of her life eating doggie bon bons and being spoiled like no hound ever has. It's no wonder Grandma still keeps a picture of sweet Sadie in a place of honor on her night table.
So with Mom's lessons ringing in my ears, I headed immediately for the nearest shelter, ready to find a new addition to our home. But the first shelter I went to was depressing. Walking in the door, I expected to be greeted by one of the four people sitting around a circular table playing cards, but instead I was ignored ... Completely.
Regardless of this, I wandered into the next room where cats of all ages, colors and sizes sat in cages stacked one on top of the other. Most of them however were hesitant to initiate contact with me through the bars, choosing instead to cower at the back of their cages when I came too near. And though I was eager to bring someone home, none of the animals seemed to be the perfect choice I was looking for.
I ended up leaving that shelter empty handed, depressed for all the animals I couldn't take home, and irritated with the fact that no one bothered to assist me while I was there. Unlike a pet store, someone going to a shelter - nine times out of ten - is there to find an animal, rescue it and bring it home. They're not there to browse the pretty kitties and leave ... And so, I was extremely agitated that the employees there didn't even try to pretend one iota of caring for the animals in their charge. Had their attitudes been different, I could have left that day with an animal by my side.
But life works in mysterious ways ...
Online I found just the shelter I was looking for, one that cared enough to post a website complete with pictures and information on the animals they had up for adoption. With my heart set on a black cat, I scrolled down the list of available felines until I finally found what I was looking for, a short hair domestic, completely black and only a few months old, brought in as a stray. They called her Jaylyn.
With a quick call to my sister Jodi, as much for moral support as well as restraint, we made quick work navigating through a few small towns on our way to the shelter.
Immediately upon getting there, we were greeted by an extremely friendly and helpful staff. And I was all at once positive that this shelter should have been my first stop all along. Giving us the full run of the cat adoption room, they left us in peace to take our time greeting each individual cat, with the instructions to feel free to open any of the cages and take them out one by one for closer inspection.
But there was only one cat on my mind, and as I began walking down the row, my eyes searched each and every cage for a sign of black fluff. "When I find the right cat, it will choose me," came back my own words from a conversation I had had at work earlier and so when a quick flash of small black paw reached out from inbetween the bars to paw at my dangling sleeve - I was wearing one of those shirts with the ridiculously long and flowing sleeves at the time - it was like instant recognition, I may have even squealed in joy ...
Throwing the latch and reaching in, the small black cat virtually hopped into my arms, leaving me with little doubt that it was complete and utter love at first sight. And with no reason to wait, I sent Jodi off to deliver the message to the lady at the desk, the little one who had been lost, had now been found and we were going home.
30 minutes of paperwork later and a promissary note to have her spayed within a month's time, Jodi and I carried our precious cargo to the car, having changed her name from the stomach churning name of Jaylyn to Emma, thanks to Jodi and her list of thought provoking questions of things I liked. I always knew my love of Jane Austen would come in handy one day ...
It's been heaven ever since. Emma keeping me company whenever KC's not home and providing KC with enough amusement to keep her occupied when she is. Although there have been plenty of times when Emma may have wished that KC would completely forget about her, like the time when she decided to deck the cat out in multicolored hair pretties ... Still despite small events of torture and too much loving, Emma has never once scratched KC in anger or otherwise. Me on the other hand she goes to town with whenever her friskier side requires blood. But you know what, I wouldn't change it for the world.
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