Things I Never Want To Hear Kraken Say
“Mommy, look! I found this poor kitty outside my school. It was going to rain and I couldn’t let her wander the street by herself. Can we keep her until we find her owner?”
I took one look at the little ragamuffin and knew exactly what was going to happen. If we didn’t find kitty’s owner, we’d keep it and I’d end up being the primary caregiver once the novelty of a new pet had worn off. I had to nip this in the bud quickly.
“Just till the end of the week,” I said. “If we can’t find its owner by then, we’ll find it another home, so don’t get attached.”
I’m sure you already know how this fiasco ends. There’s no such thing as “don’t get attached” when it comes to a cat.
Not when it’s just a few months old.
Not when it can stare up at you with those huge, goggly eyes.
And especially not when it’s a dead ringer for Puss In Boots from Shrek.
I suppose the first clue I had that the cat was hatching its nefarious plot to keep us was when Kraken’s dad got out a box and started to line it with a cushion and then rig up a drink bottle.
Me: Wait, hang on. Why are you making that, that … thing?
KD : The cat needs someplace to sleep at night. Surely, you don’t want to wake up in the morning and find her curled up next to your pillow, do you? Silly, Mommy.
Well, I suppose. I mean who knew where it had been and the last thing I wanted was to find it in my bed. It’s probably like the Mayflower for fleas and stuff.
And then the next day, Kraken started to call it Butterscotch.
Me : Wait, hang on. You named the cat? You can’t name the cat. We’re not keeping it.
Kraken : We can’t possibly keep calling her kitty, now can we? Silly Mommy.
I will not get attached to it. I will NOT get attached to it.
By the end of the week, Kraken and Kraken’s Dad were completely smittened and the cat had its own collar (it’s got a bell. A BELL!), kitty litter, dish and a jumbo pack of WHISKERS JUNIOR.
And still I resisted. I thought that if I refused to take part in its care - I absolutely will not feed it or change its litter lining or bathe it - then I would not get attached to it and there was still hope that we would find it another home.
Right? RIGHT??!
Then one morning, while the whole family was still asleep, I went out into the living room and found the cat mewing and looking mournfully at me with its huge, goggly eyes. So I did the only thing I could do. I took out its dish and poured some kibble into it.
DAMMIT.
A few nights back, I caught myself watching Butterscotch bat around a plastic bag for ten whole minutes while Law & Order : Special Victims Unit was on TV. Right then, I knew I was in trouble. The last time I was so enamored by something so mundane was when Kraken was 3 months old and she had just discovered the ceiling fan. I would watch her watch the blades go round and round and think that it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
There’s no denying it. I am falling in love with that damn cat.
That was over a month ago. No one has stepped forward to claim her so I suppose we are obliged to keep her. I have never had a cat before so everything is a learning curve. I have to get used to her ambushing my ankle while I’m doing the dishes and looking on top of the dining table when she's not in her usual corner and get used to the fact that I can call for her until I am purple in the face and she will never come.
Now I’m dreading the day when Kraken will come home with a grungy-looking boy with body piercing and a tattoo that says “Hell’s Angel” and go, “Mommy, look. This is my boyfriend, Slash. His parents kicked him out because he set his last school on fire. Can he crash at our place for a few days until his parents calm down and take him back?”
I took one look at the little ragamuffin and knew exactly what was going to happen. If we didn’t find kitty’s owner, we’d keep it and I’d end up being the primary caregiver once the novelty of a new pet had worn off. I had to nip this in the bud quickly.
“Just till the end of the week,” I said. “If we can’t find its owner by then, we’ll find it another home, so don’t get attached.”
I’m sure you already know how this fiasco ends. There’s no such thing as “don’t get attached” when it comes to a cat.
Not when it’s just a few months old.
Not when it can stare up at you with those huge, goggly eyes.
And especially not when it’s a dead ringer for Puss In Boots from Shrek.
I suppose the first clue I had that the cat was hatching its nefarious plot to keep us was when Kraken’s dad got out a box and started to line it with a cushion and then rig up a drink bottle.
Me: Wait, hang on. Why are you making that, that … thing?
KD : The cat needs someplace to sleep at night. Surely, you don’t want to wake up in the morning and find her curled up next to your pillow, do you? Silly, Mommy.
Well, I suppose. I mean who knew where it had been and the last thing I wanted was to find it in my bed. It’s probably like the Mayflower for fleas and stuff.
And then the next day, Kraken started to call it Butterscotch.
Me : Wait, hang on. You named the cat? You can’t name the cat. We’re not keeping it.
Kraken : We can’t possibly keep calling her kitty, now can we? Silly Mommy.
I will not get attached to it. I will NOT get attached to it.
By the end of the week, Kraken and Kraken’s Dad were completely smittened and the cat had its own collar (it’s got a bell. A BELL!), kitty litter, dish and a jumbo pack of WHISKERS JUNIOR.
And still I resisted. I thought that if I refused to take part in its care - I absolutely will not feed it or change its litter lining or bathe it - then I would not get attached to it and there was still hope that we would find it another home.
Right? RIGHT??!
Then one morning, while the whole family was still asleep, I went out into the living room and found the cat mewing and looking mournfully at me with its huge, goggly eyes. So I did the only thing I could do. I took out its dish and poured some kibble into it.
DAMMIT.
A few nights back, I caught myself watching Butterscotch bat around a plastic bag for ten whole minutes while Law & Order : Special Victims Unit was on TV. Right then, I knew I was in trouble. The last time I was so enamored by something so mundane was when Kraken was 3 months old and she had just discovered the ceiling fan. I would watch her watch the blades go round and round and think that it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
There’s no denying it. I am falling in love with that damn cat.
That was over a month ago. No one has stepped forward to claim her so I suppose we are obliged to keep her. I have never had a cat before so everything is a learning curve. I have to get used to her ambushing my ankle while I’m doing the dishes and looking on top of the dining table when she's not in her usual corner and get used to the fact that I can call for her until I am purple in the face and she will never come.
Now I’m dreading the day when Kraken will come home with a grungy-looking boy with body piercing and a tattoo that says “Hell’s Angel” and go, “Mommy, look. This is my boyfriend, Slash. His parents kicked him out because he set his last school on fire. Can he crash at our place for a few days until his parents calm down and take him back?”