Several weeks ago we got a cat.
I’d been meaning to go back to the shelter for a while, but they had an appointment-only policy and I never got around to scheduling that. On our staycation I finally did. Minnow immediately latched onto a very personable tabby and there was some back and forth deciding what to do because it was originally our intent to get an outdoor cat, but the outdoor cats were all pretty standoffish (understandably) and the shelter people indicated this cat was intended to be an indoor cat (and we agreed) so I finally said fuggit, let’s do it live, I would just deal with the allergies as needed.
Well, evidently I’m not allergic to cats anymore, or I’m not allergic to this one, so it has gradually worked its way up to having free-range of most of the house as of this week. It’s a nice cat, it tolerates my kid, it’s a bit needy but I also caught myself calling it my cat baby the other day so I guess my transformation to formal cat lover is complete. Really, allergies were the only thing that kept me from enjoying the company of cats previously, so I guess it’s no surprise.
A cat is more work than I envisioned as a first-time owner. It needs to be brushed daily and decoated once a week (a tool that brushes the undercoat and removes a lot of loose hair before it can be properly shed), in addition to having two or three sustained exercise periods a day, but working at home its something I can accommodate. It poops where its supposed to and it’s super chill about having its nails trimmed, for which I am grateful.
It does this weird little growl-purr thing, and at night it will climb up on the back of the couch and headbutt me from behind, then try to lick or eat my hair. I am not sure why this is endearing but it is.