Knowing my audience-
I know you'll appreciate this, if you haven't heard already.
--
Laura, lying to herself about her intentions, boarded the train. She sat near the front, tucked her purse - a small black folded affair with copper round buttons - between her hip and the wall, and started a new book. Not a school book, mind you. Sometimes, if the books on her school reading list end up interesting enough, she'll take them on the train. She read at least a hundred pages of Bel Canto on trains and in stations. But what she's reading now, John Gardner's The Art of Fiction, isn't really train reading. She tried, she really did, but she only made it forty pages in on trains, and constantly noticed her attention wandering.
Today she brought a YA novel, less than 200 pages long: a retelling of Sleeping Beauty. Laura has a longstanding love affair with fairy tale revisions.
She makes it through about seventy pages, between the train ride and the arrival of Kelly at Arlington station. Before you are too impressed, dear reader, I should mention that as a YA novel, the writing is neither dense nor difficult, and Kelly was running about fifteen minutes late, which meant fifteen more pages of reading time, and Kelly was hauling several bags, one of which included 10 lbs of clay. When Kelly found Laura, Laura took control of one of the bags, and slipped her book into it.
They gave each other mischievous glances. Kelly said, "So we're not actually getting one today, right?"
"Yes. Just looking. Hanging out with them to make sure I don't die."
Kelly shot Laura a meaningful glance, which Laura ignored.
They found the place easily enough. It was down the road a ways, over a bridge, on the other side, under some trees. Somehow, Laura expected it to be larger. A dog played in a fenced in yard. A mutt with a close pit bull relative, if Laura read his shape right. He was brown furred and happy looking, curious, just enjoying the outside.
Laura muttered to herself, "We can't have a dog. We signed a contract saying we wouldn't. And it's not fair to have dogs in cities, where there's nowhere close for them to play."
She said it for her own benefit, since Kelly already knew this. She said it as a mantra. Laura would have loved to bring home a lazy cuddly dog, a big black one, the kind that lives indefinitely in shelters because families inexplicably like puppies better, and inexplicably think that big and dark means mean and scary.
"I can't have a dog," she whispers again, pushing open the door.
But, she thinks to herself, and she asks the man behind the counter, "Where... do you keep your cats?"
He points disinterestedly to a door to her right. "Right in there."
Laura and Kelly enter. A woman a bit older than them, but not much, is identifiable by her gray t-shirt that says 'volunteer.' When she turns, Laura sees a small black kitten snuggled into her neck. It mrows piteously when she stops petting it.
Leaving their bags, clay especially, on a bench, Laura and Kelly walk into the area with the cages. This is when it strikes home for Laura. This is when she realizes that this is for real. "Just looking," she says, when a volunteer asks if they're thinking about adopting today.
They pet most of the cats. A particularly rambunctious and handsome black kitten tries to maul Laura's hand through the cage. He's not mean, he just doesn't know yet that kitten claws hurt an awful lot. Laura knows that if she brought him home, her apartment wouldn't survive it.
In a big cage, one big enough for people, a volunteer is brushing a vast handsome fellow, also black, whose silky midnight fur is long and fluffy. She's having trouble: he loves the brush so much he won't hold still. He headbutts her, nuzzles her, wriggles and purrs. He can't weigh less than twenty pounds. Laura thinks he looks like a panther, a patch of midnight. She looks for girl cats. She's not really sure why, but she knows she's looking for a girl cat.
They spend some time petting and softly talking to a pretty girl named Beatrix. She's nice, but they know it's not the right match.
One of the cats, a particularly adorable one with flyaway gray hair, is in heat, yowling for attention.
They wait by a cage with a pretty upside-down kitty in it and ask one of the volunteers, "When you have a minute, can we spend some time with this one?"
The lovely little girl inside is batting at Laura's fingers through the cage door, her deadly blades sheathed. It's only her paws that whack Laura's fingertips playfully.
Inside the visitor's cage, Laura finds a feather on a string, attached to a stick. She moves it and watches the pretty girl's face go intent. In a heartbeat, she's pounced. Laura flicks the feather away from her and giggles as the cat - young, but full grown and petite - fiendishly attacks it. After a minute of stalking and pouncing, the little cat lays down for a moment, oozing with kitty dignity, obviously portraying the thought, "Give me a moment. Hold on. It's lay down time. Pet my head. What's that noise? I hear a kitten. Ooh, my foot needs licking. DEAR GOD I FORGOT ABOUT THE FEATHER TOY." And then she'd be back to pouncing, practicing her ninja skills from under Kelly's chair, crouching, watching, and attacking!
Laura looked up from her seat on the floor and met Kelly's eyes. In them, she found something somewhat beseeching.
A volunteer asked, "How is it going?"
"We really like her," said Laura noncommittally.
"A lot," said Kelly.
"She's a sweetheart. She came in with her kittens and they all found homes. She's been with us a while."
Laura paused, unable to understand why nobody would have snatched this little princess up immediately.
"Let's see," said the volunteer, pulling her paperwork from the clipboard on the cage door, "she's not spayed, so if you did want to adopt her, if you fill out the paperwork today... You could probably bring her home by Monday, depending on the vet's schedule."
Laura pet the cat, who nuzzled her hand, and looked at Kelly, who asked Laura, mostly with her eyes, "Can we have her?"
Laura laughed, looking at the little ninja, admiring the way her fur looked like someone had poured coffee into melted chocolate and swirled it all together. The cat's ears were big, her features delicate and striking. "Yes," she smiled. "Yeah, we can get her."
The volunteer beamed, and went off in search of paperwork.
As Kelly played with the cat some more, petting her and teasing her with the feathers, Laura filled out the adoption papers. She'd done her homework; she knew what it would cost; she came here with money, all the while telling herself she wasn't going to get a cat. Not today. Today was just for looking, for testing her allergies.
Her head was clear. She didn't itch. Her breathing was fine. In a room with thirty cats and cages full of guinea pigs, and a couple rabbits, Laura's allergies were fine, and as she wrote 'Laura Jones' under 'Name of Owner,' a little black and brown head nuzzled the clipboard. The cat was curious, exploring the cage and laying down to watch the other cats through the door, but she stayed close, and she rubbed herself against Laura nonchalantly, already claiming ownership. As anybody with a cat knows, it's not the person that chooses how things are going to work.
"We weren't going to adopt a cat today," Laura eyed the frolicking kittens inside a large cage next to the main desk.
Kelly shot her an amused look. "Yeah right."
Laura had the decency to blush. "Well, it wasn't certain, anyway. If I'd started sneezing, or itching, or if none of them fit well with us..."
"You knew," Kel looked like she was about to start laughing.
"Okay, shut up." Laura smiled, a real smile, a very happy smile.
Their cat, who they would be calling Fiona, would be spayed in the morning: Friday. They would take Friday and Saturday to cat-proof their apartment, stashing art supplies and finding new homes for things of fragile nature, and they would go buy the essentials: food, litter box, toys, more toys...
Fiona would be coming home with them on Sunday.
--
Laura, lying to herself about her intentions, boarded the train. She sat near the front, tucked her purse - a small black folded affair with copper round buttons - between her hip and the wall, and started a new book. Not a school book, mind you. Sometimes, if the books on her school reading list end up interesting enough, she'll take them on the train. She read at least a hundred pages of Bel Canto on trains and in stations. But what she's reading now, John Gardner's The Art of Fiction, isn't really train reading. She tried, she really did, but she only made it forty pages in on trains, and constantly noticed her attention wandering.
Today she brought a YA novel, less than 200 pages long: a retelling of Sleeping Beauty. Laura has a longstanding love affair with fairy tale revisions.
She makes it through about seventy pages, between the train ride and the arrival of Kelly at Arlington station. Before you are too impressed, dear reader, I should mention that as a YA novel, the writing is neither dense nor difficult, and Kelly was running about fifteen minutes late, which meant fifteen more pages of reading time, and Kelly was hauling several bags, one of which included 10 lbs of clay. When Kelly found Laura, Laura took control of one of the bags, and slipped her book into it.
They gave each other mischievous glances. Kelly said, "So we're not actually getting one today, right?"
"Yes. Just looking. Hanging out with them to make sure I don't die."
Kelly shot Laura a meaningful glance, which Laura ignored.
They found the place easily enough. It was down the road a ways, over a bridge, on the other side, under some trees. Somehow, Laura expected it to be larger. A dog played in a fenced in yard. A mutt with a close pit bull relative, if Laura read his shape right. He was brown furred and happy looking, curious, just enjoying the outside.
Laura muttered to herself, "We can't have a dog. We signed a contract saying we wouldn't. And it's not fair to have dogs in cities, where there's nowhere close for them to play."
She said it for her own benefit, since Kelly already knew this. She said it as a mantra. Laura would have loved to bring home a lazy cuddly dog, a big black one, the kind that lives indefinitely in shelters because families inexplicably like puppies better, and inexplicably think that big and dark means mean and scary.
"I can't have a dog," she whispers again, pushing open the door.
But, she thinks to herself, and she asks the man behind the counter, "Where... do you keep your cats?"
He points disinterestedly to a door to her right. "Right in there."
Laura and Kelly enter. A woman a bit older than them, but not much, is identifiable by her gray t-shirt that says 'volunteer.' When she turns, Laura sees a small black kitten snuggled into her neck. It mrows piteously when she stops petting it.
Leaving their bags, clay especially, on a bench, Laura and Kelly walk into the area with the cages. This is when it strikes home for Laura. This is when she realizes that this is for real. "Just looking," she says, when a volunteer asks if they're thinking about adopting today.
They pet most of the cats. A particularly rambunctious and handsome black kitten tries to maul Laura's hand through the cage. He's not mean, he just doesn't know yet that kitten claws hurt an awful lot. Laura knows that if she brought him home, her apartment wouldn't survive it.
In a big cage, one big enough for people, a volunteer is brushing a vast handsome fellow, also black, whose silky midnight fur is long and fluffy. She's having trouble: he loves the brush so much he won't hold still. He headbutts her, nuzzles her, wriggles and purrs. He can't weigh less than twenty pounds. Laura thinks he looks like a panther, a patch of midnight. She looks for girl cats. She's not really sure why, but she knows she's looking for a girl cat.
They spend some time petting and softly talking to a pretty girl named Beatrix. She's nice, but they know it's not the right match.
One of the cats, a particularly adorable one with flyaway gray hair, is in heat, yowling for attention.
They wait by a cage with a pretty upside-down kitty in it and ask one of the volunteers, "When you have a minute, can we spend some time with this one?"
The lovely little girl inside is batting at Laura's fingers through the cage door, her deadly blades sheathed. It's only her paws that whack Laura's fingertips playfully.
Inside the visitor's cage, Laura finds a feather on a string, attached to a stick. She moves it and watches the pretty girl's face go intent. In a heartbeat, she's pounced. Laura flicks the feather away from her and giggles as the cat - young, but full grown and petite - fiendishly attacks it. After a minute of stalking and pouncing, the little cat lays down for a moment, oozing with kitty dignity, obviously portraying the thought, "Give me a moment. Hold on. It's lay down time. Pet my head. What's that noise? I hear a kitten. Ooh, my foot needs licking. DEAR GOD I FORGOT ABOUT THE FEATHER TOY." And then she'd be back to pouncing, practicing her ninja skills from under Kelly's chair, crouching, watching, and attacking!
Laura looked up from her seat on the floor and met Kelly's eyes. In them, she found something somewhat beseeching.
A volunteer asked, "How is it going?"
"We really like her," said Laura noncommittally.
"A lot," said Kelly.
"She's a sweetheart. She came in with her kittens and they all found homes. She's been with us a while."
Laura paused, unable to understand why nobody would have snatched this little princess up immediately.
"Let's see," said the volunteer, pulling her paperwork from the clipboard on the cage door, "she's not spayed, so if you did want to adopt her, if you fill out the paperwork today... You could probably bring her home by Monday, depending on the vet's schedule."
Laura pet the cat, who nuzzled her hand, and looked at Kelly, who asked Laura, mostly with her eyes, "Can we have her?"
Laura laughed, looking at the little ninja, admiring the way her fur looked like someone had poured coffee into melted chocolate and swirled it all together. The cat's ears were big, her features delicate and striking. "Yes," she smiled. "Yeah, we can get her."
The volunteer beamed, and went off in search of paperwork.
As Kelly played with the cat some more, petting her and teasing her with the feathers, Laura filled out the adoption papers. She'd done her homework; she knew what it would cost; she came here with money, all the while telling herself she wasn't going to get a cat. Not today. Today was just for looking, for testing her allergies.
Her head was clear. She didn't itch. Her breathing was fine. In a room with thirty cats and cages full of guinea pigs, and a couple rabbits, Laura's allergies were fine, and as she wrote 'Laura Jones' under 'Name of Owner,' a little black and brown head nuzzled the clipboard. The cat was curious, exploring the cage and laying down to watch the other cats through the door, but she stayed close, and she rubbed herself against Laura nonchalantly, already claiming ownership. As anybody with a cat knows, it's not the person that chooses how things are going to work.
"We weren't going to adopt a cat today," Laura eyed the frolicking kittens inside a large cage next to the main desk.
Kelly shot her an amused look. "Yeah right."
Laura had the decency to blush. "Well, it wasn't certain, anyway. If I'd started sneezing, or itching, or if none of them fit well with us..."
"You knew," Kel looked like she was about to start laughing.
"Okay, shut up." Laura smiled, a real smile, a very happy smile.
Their cat, who they would be calling Fiona, would be spayed in the morning: Friday. They would take Friday and Saturday to cat-proof their apartment, stashing art supplies and finding new homes for things of fragile nature, and they would go buy the essentials: food, litter box, toys, more toys...
Fiona would be coming home with them on Sunday.