Saturday we headed out around 10 o’clock to journey inland to the vast, green expanse that is Hendry County. What can I say? They have the best animal shelters. While we were willing to be quite flexible (about cats and counties), our ideal checklist for Unnamed Cat #3 was:
- Male
- Solid gray
- Purrs louder than a lawnmower
- Likes us
- Can keep up with Cash and Wynton
Whether or not we actually came home with a cat and how the hell we’d know which one to pick… I couldn’t tell you. I was just going to follow my gut. Ultimately, we were looking for the universe to point us in the right direction.
We were about halfway to our first of three destinations, ARC (the same shelter Cash came from), when they called me to tell me that our application had been approved. Duh; we’re awesome. Then they asked when we’d like to come in to browse the goods. “We’re actually on our way right now! We should be there in 30.” And that’s when they informed me that they had moved to an appointment-only system. Thanks, Covid. So we set an appointment for the next available time: Sunday at 11. Fantastic. The only thing better than spending a whole day driving out to the middle of nowhere is spending two whole days driving out to the middle of nowhere.
Regardless, we kept on the path, now skipping destination #1 and heading to Destination #2: LaBelle (where Wynton came from). After passing more Tractor Supply stores than I’ve seen in the past calendar year, we arrived. The Caloosa Humane Society is a small, squat little building nestled between various other rural government buildings. You can adopt a dog, meet with your probation officer, and play a round of canasta at the senior center all in one fell swoop. Convenient!
We waltzed on in (appointments?! Unnecessary! Masks? Who needs them! (Well, everyone, so we’ll still wear ours, thank you)) and were shown straight on in to the kitten room. And OH MY CUTENESS. Five kittens, all of whom pounced on us like we were, in fact, chopped liver. The purring was deafening. I was in my happy place. I even almost forgave ARC for not making the whole “Appointment Only” thing in bigger font on their website.
Alas, as wonderful as it was to be enveloped by kitten love, we opted to pass. Of the five kittens, only two were boys, and they were both all black, just like Cash. We promised Cash that he had dibs on being the only panther in the house. The three ladies in the room were all tuxedos, which, I don’t know… could be too soon for me. RIP, Bird, my love.
Though, I will say: those girls had a leg up on the boys when it came to throwing themselves at us and begging to be taken home. Really reminded me of my 20s. Kidding! (Not really).
After also meeting and greeting the tweens, teens, and adults in addition to the babies, we bid everyone adieu and headed to the next destination. I will say this for anyone reading and looking for a cat in no man’s land: Caloosa’s cats are the FRIENDLIEST. Seriously. No skittish fraidy cats in there! Everyone was a love bug. It was hard to walk away sans cat.
Destination #3 was actually back in the Cape. I had done my homework and knew that they had two gray tabby kittens — one boy, one girl. As we walked in, we queued up at the front desk behind an elderly woman and her granddaughter, haphazardly assembling one of those cardboard cat carriers, about to bring home their new baby. Something in the back of my mind simply whispered, “they took the gray boy…” And sure enough, as we were told to follow them back to the kitten room, up up and away went the gray male tabby. Though, if I must say, his sister proved to be the far more entertaining of the two. She was a laugh riot. (Once again… those females… really pushing me to rethink my personal cat philosophies).
But again, there just wasn’t that spark with her or any of the other residents at the Cape shelter. And with that, we called it a day and trudged home to float in the pool in defeat. Pity us, please.
Sunday we were up and out and back at it again. Once at ARC and being led to the kitten house, our guide mentioned that they only had two real little kittens at the moment, only one boy, and he was, of course, a ginger. However, she was sure, based on how wonderful his personality was, that we would be going home with him. And sure enough, Cap’n Crunch, as he was called, was pretty fucking cute. And spunky. And would be running circles around Cash and Wynton. But again… there was just something missing. Hank accused me of being a cat racist and turning down the little dollop of joy based on coloring alone, but that wasn’t the whole story. I never once heard him purr. And he seemed far happier running around the lanai, chasing the other cats, than he was acknowledging us (what? I like my cats to pay attention to me! The LaBelle ones did 😒). I just didn’t feel that elusive spark.
Again, we visited the rest of the cats, just to pay our respects. And again, I found myself enjoying the company of a female far more than I thought I would. This one was named Spice, a gorgeous 9-year-old calico that had just been brought in because her owner had gone into hospice. You could tell all she wanted was to be held and be on someone’s lap, probably what she’d been accustomed to her whole life thus far. My heart broke a wee bit for her. However, given that she was hissing at all the other cats, I didn’t think she’d much prefer coming home with us to two young boys who would want nothing more than to harass her for the limited years she had left.
Our guide mentioned that there were 30 kittens currently in foster care that would be ready in a month or two and to check back then. And with that, at about 11:25, we headed home, empty handed and a bit despondent. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t 100% sure I wanted a third cat as we started this expedition on Saturday, but coming home that disappointed on Sunday, I realized where my heart truly laid.
As we drove home, Hank tried scouring Craigslist and Facebook, looking for outside-the-box options, but nothing appeared. An hour later, we were sulking in the pool again.
And that’s when Lisa texted us a link to a Cape FB group post. A kitten needed a home. A solid gray, tiny, six-week-old boy kitten. The post went up at approximately 11:25. The universe had spoken.
I immediately texted the woman to express interest but also to ask for some more information. Apparently the little guy was just found in a stall in her barn, born to a feral mama who hangs out around there. I was initially hesitant to have anything to do with a feral anything, as my only experience agreeing to adopt a tiny never-been-handled-before kitten was Dizzy, and that turned out… interestingly. But I reached out to a friend who fosters kittens and attacked her with a barrage of questions about the age and socializing and yadda yadda. She assured me that at his age, he should be just fine. And so now we’re tentatively set to meet this woman and the little baby tomorrow evening. Only time will tell if he’s really The One, but we’re optimistic thus far.
I had no sooner texted My Mother and Lizzy that the universe was telling us that this was our kitten when Hank walks in the kitchen and says to me, “you realize that this is the universe telling us that this is our cat, right?” Yup — coming in loud and clear.
Ruby Roark 