Dogs Have Owners; Cats Have Staff
My cat died last weekend. Okay, technically he was Mom's cat, but really he was mine. Or I was his, whatever. We were best buddies despite the fact that the last time I laid eyes on him was over a year ago. He was old, and it was coming, but I had hoped he'd stick around for another two weeks so he'd be there when I go home next, but no such luck. I didn't get that upset when Mom called with the bad news, and in fact have maintained my usual equanimous disposition. However, I have been seized with a desperate desire to get a cat. Apparently I have to have a feline presence in my life, even if only long-distance.
Therefore, I have submitted an application to a local Siamese rescue center. They want references. I have to submit proof that my landlord is okay with cats. There's a questionnaire. There's an interview. Who knows, I may have to write an essay or take an oral exam. They may check my credit or want a list of all the places I've lived in the last ten years. I may have to notify them of all the dog people I know, in case they're spies trying to get me to betray the great Felinophilic Nation. As if that were even possible.
It's a fairly extended process so it'll be at least a few weeks before I get my hands on a lovable furry ball of superiority and disdain. I'm looking forward to it.