Poppette the Rockette

Matt was the one who wanted the cat. I wasn't ready. I wanted to be able to spend the weekend in the city whenever I felt like it, and not have some furry thing waiting to be fed back at home. But I love animals, and of course then he started showing me pictures of kittens on the Palo Alto Humane Society web site, and once I see a kitten, I want it. So, we agreed to go to a cat fair that Saturday. We knew if we went to the cat fair, we'd come home with a cat. When we walked into the fair, a little girl was sitting near the entrance with a cute orange cat on her lap. I breathed, "Ohhh, what a cute kitty." As Matt steered me inside to see more cats, I heard the volunteer asking the little girl, "Now, sweetie, how did you say your hamster died, again?" I turned to Matt and said, "If anyone asks me how my pets died to deem whether I'm fit to have a new one or not, I'm going to fall apart. It's a sensitive day today." We met George, the sweet-eyed brown tabby, Mona, a dainly little black cat, Grigio, a huge Russian Blue, whose poor owner had to give him up when he entered assisted living (sensitive day, indeed; I teared up when I heard that), and Dunkin, Donuts, and Latte, tabbies of the orange variety who had only just left feral cat-dom and, according to the placard by their cage, were "still getting used to this being-someone's-pet idea." Tabbies and Calicos and everything in between. Old and young, recent strays and fully domesticated--we had many options.

I longingly walked over to the orange cat's cage. "Poppy," her placard read, "is a rare female orange tabby, deep orange in color, with a long, feathery tail--a real glamour girl! She loves to sit in your lap and to chat." I have a weakness for orange tabbies, because my confessed favorite of my parents' three cats is Simba, a 14-pound orange tabby who runs out to greet me when I arrive, sneaks into my car and refuses to get out when I try to leave, accompanies me everywhere, and is so mellow that he'll ride around in my shoulder bag if I put him in. I wanted Poppy, but the little girl we had walked past had already applied to adopt her. I pouted and moved on to three calico kittens. Sweetpea, Zinnia, and Pansy, they were called. We had to apply to adopt them to hold them. That's how they get you--pretty good strategy. Separate the wheat from the chaffe, as it were. We filled out the form (which did, in fact, ask if we had ever lost a pet, and how. One dog each to cars, and several cats and dogs to old age.) I held Sweetpea, who promptly curled up in my lap and went to sleep ("Sometimes cats choose you," said a volunteer.). Matt held Zinnia, who was a feisty little devil. They were to be adopted together. We said we'd have to check with our homeowners' association, but still went and bought cat litter and kitten food, in our excitement.

Unfortunately, when I called the HOA, I learned that the rule is one pet per household. I don't break the rules, unless the rules are discriminatory, and I didn't think this qualified. Matt didn't want to separate the kittens, so after a teary discussion, we called the cat lady and rescinded our adoption application.

Thanksgiving passed, and we recovered. We were now looking at the PAHS web site at a rate of about five times a day, and Poppy, the orange tabby, was still pictured. I said, "I wish we could have gotten her; there aren't any requirements about her being adopted with another cat. I guess they're not updating their website." Matt said, "Ask." This is a typical conversation in our household: Me, drama. Matt, ask. He usually gives good advice, so I emailed the cat lady to ask about Poppy. She responded, "Poppy is still looking for that perfect home. If you'll apply to adopt her, you can come see her at this weekend's cat fair and pick her up then." I danced for joy. We applied, we went to the cat fair. We picked her up and walked around the pet store with her. Three little girls ran up, and the dad with them asked, "Carly, is this the kitten that's your favorite?" I turned to her. "Sweetie, did you have another kitty you liked? We already applied to adopt this one." Matt hissed, "You're mean!", but I just thought she should know before she set her expectations. We held Poppy, who was quite mellow, and the pet store owner put on some cat Christmas carols--you know, where the cat meows are set to the tune of "Silent Night." "Meow, meow, meow, meow," went the recording. And Poppy added, "Mew!" "Meow, meow, meow, meow," "Mew!" That clinched it. She was coming home with us. We touched base with the cat lady, made arrangements for her to drop Poppy off later that afternoon, and went home.

They weren't kidding when they wrote that she liked to chat. Lap sitting, not so much. She prefers to be right next to you. But she does talk. She carries on when we get home from being gone for a while, when she wants to be fed, when she's playing. It's hilarious. She chirps to greet us and coos when we pet her. She chatters at birds and at her kitty buddies in the windows of their condos. The funniest thing is that she plays fetch. When she was younger, we'd throw her little rattling mice all over the house, and she would run after them and bring them back to us. Now, she's more picky. She'll fetch twist ties and return them, but mice are to be thrown onto a chair, or, preferably, onto the red chair, where she goalie-blocks them and then chirps at us to throw another. She loves to bat around twist ties, but loses them rapidly, so she will pretend she's hidden the twist tie under the area rug and attack the edges of it. For a while, she would only chase the shadow of her cat dancer, and ran in circles until she wore herself out. She sits on a chair at the table with me when I work, sits next to us on the couch, and even, sometimes, snuggles on the bed all night. In the morning, she brings a toy into bed and attacks our feet until we play with her. She loves playing fetch from the bed. Having a pet is delightful. I had no idea how much fun it would be to have my own. And now, if you'll excuse me, someone wants to play!