I went to visit Val and her cats. No pressure to take them, no not at all.
"I told Dawn that you were thinking about taking them and everyone at the clinic is really excited. They all think you're awesome and really couldn't think of a better person for them."
Did I say no pressure? HEY! Put that screwdriver away and don't tighten those!
Yes, I have actually considered NOT getting any more cats, at least through the end of the year. There is something to be said for being able to linger in places because I don't feel I have to be home. I look ahead at what I may be doing; Scottish festival in Iowa at the end of September, 30th class reunion in LaCrosse at Viterbo College (yeah, yeah, I know it's called 'University' now, but it will always be 'College' to me), and the thought of using up my vacation days with a visit to my daughter, which she didn't know about until she reads this. Plus, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's tossed into the mix.
It is undeniable, however, that I am lonely. I nearly had a heart-attack on Wednesday night. I went to bed at my usual time, but I find I am not sleeping well and am waking up at odd hours and noises. I will swear, on any size stack of whatever religious tome you wish, that I heard a cat jump from a windowsill to the floor. If you have heard it, it is an unmistakable sound; feet hitting the floor. At night, that meant someone was coming to sleep with me. I was so terrified I would suddenly feel the weight of a cat on bed and this "cat" then lying on my legs as they were wont to do. I curled into a ball, pulled the covers over my head and fell fitfully asleep. I have no idea what I really heard. I just know my sense of sound heard something that was translated into a memory that couldn't possibly be happening, or could it?
I walked into Val's apartment and one fled. The other looked at me before going behind the futon. She was, however captured and held while I let her smell me. Then, when there were no hisses or spits or struggles to get away, she was handed over. She sort of looked at me and then lay down in my lap. "She's the lap cat," Val said. She stayed for a good 10 minutes before deciding the petting was enough and she jumped off. (That's how we got Shakespeare. He fell asleep in my arms at the pet store where he was. Well, you can't just wake up a cat. He's obviously comfortable with me.)
At that point, Val got the other one out of hiding. She struggled a bit so Val calmed her down and then I offered my hand to smell. She looked at me but didn't want to be petted, so she was let go. Val and I talked about their care and their personalities and then Val got the recalcitrant cat again. This time, she allowed Val to place her in my lap. The ears flicked back for a minute or two but when she realized the ear and chin scratches were offered, she was fine. She only lasted a few minutes in my lap, but she's not the lap cat the other is.
By this day next week I'll either have 2 new friends or be getting 2 new friends. Labor Day weekend is an good time. I am clearing my calendar of any ancillary engagements that I can spend the weekend bonding. My house is empty. I am empty.
They won't be allowed into the basement until they are used to the upstairs and used to me coming and going. I have to wash the kitchen and bathroom floors and one more litter box. Both are quite chunky which neither Betsy or Rascal was which will be quite different, but they do love to sleep with their owner. I realize that is what I miss the most, rolling over to find a purring cat. Pillows are no substitute.
Yes, you can hear the not quite 100% completely sold sure right now in my voice. Am I talking myself into this? I don't quite know. Only Shakespeare was a sure thing. Everyone else was an "am I doing the right thing". There were no regrets once the cat was in the house.
As I huddled under the covers last night (What is this with a night temperature of 53 degrees in August?), the idea that I'd have foot warmers again gave me a better sleep than I've had in several days. I am a cat person.
Beverage: Prince of Wales tea