aceofkittens (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aceofkittens) wrote2005-07-20 01:49 pm
aceofkittens) wrote2005-07-20 01:49 pm
Entry tags:
The moment is at hand
The perfect kitten, as everyone else knows, is just an illusion. And it doesn’t happen when you go looking for it. But the girl keeps on looking, hopeful. She always hopes that things will be different. This time, she’ll know. She’ll know that this is the moment; this is the next perfect kitten. (from my perfect kitten vignette)
Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a crazy cat lady in training. I have always had the family cats up in SF, but never took one of my own down in LA. There has always been an excuse — a reason not to do it. "I'm always going to SF." "I'm not home enough during the week." "The person I live with doesn't want pets." Always, always some sort of (reasonably valid) excuse. This hasn't abated my cat hunger, but I've learned to live with the lack. In addition to these reasons (and because of these reasons), I have gone on record to say that I would never go and purposefully get a cat. The only way I would get a cat is if I found one (again). I have always had this sort of weird animal-finding magnetism going on. I believe in fate. For months, now, I've been whining to people about how I hoped I would once again find a cat. I kept on looking, hopeful.
Sure enough, back in May, I found Snuggles the lop on the street. He was awesome and I pondered taking him back from the rabbit rescue when he's finally available for adoption. Unfortunately, the biggest sticking point is this: my apartment's lease does not actually allow pets. Past landlords turned a blind eye, and other people's cats have stayed there before. Even this latest, slum-landlord, allowed![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cheesehead1701 and her cat, Aja, to live with me unimpeded for 6 months. The downstairs neighbor has the eternally howling pitbull. The other neighbors downstairs have a bird and a little terrier. But the slum-landlord has grown steadily more hostile toward me and my next door neighbor, Judy. Our 2 units pay the least amount of rent and he wants us out. Last year, when Judy briefly fostered a little dog, he tried to evict her over it. So, just in case, I wrote the landlord a polite letter on July 1, asking for official permission to have pets. He ignored it.
On July 15, I found the next perfect kitten.
I had seen this cat earlier in the week, lurking in the bushes outside my office building. I figured it was another of the many feral cats on this campus. Friday, my coworker was standing in the same place, talking to someone, and the cat came out of the bushes and she picked it up. Dirty, starving, weak, it clung to her, purring. She took it back to her office and called me.
All I wrote before was true still: all the reasons not to. The landlord did not return my 8 messages. It could become a huge mess if he wants to be a jackass about it. But it's like that joke: A man prays to God every night, asking to win the lottery. One day, the heavens open up and God says, "Look, I really want to help you out here, but would you at least buy a lottery ticket?!" Yes, I believe in fate. But you have to be ready when the hand of providence reaches down and gives you that firm, butt-loving shove.
I was ready.
My new cat:
Anyone who knows me, knows that I am a crazy cat lady in training. I have always had the family cats up in SF, but never took one of my own down in LA. There has always been an excuse — a reason not to do it. "I'm always going to SF." "I'm not home enough during the week." "The person I live with doesn't want pets." Always, always some sort of (reasonably valid) excuse. This hasn't abated my cat hunger, but I've learned to live with the lack. In addition to these reasons (and because of these reasons), I have gone on record to say that I would never go and purposefully get a cat. The only way I would get a cat is if I found one (again). I have always had this sort of weird animal-finding magnetism going on. I believe in fate. For months, now, I've been whining to people about how I hoped I would once again find a cat. I kept on looking, hopeful.
Sure enough, back in May, I found Snuggles the lop on the street. He was awesome and I pondered taking him back from the rabbit rescue when he's finally available for adoption. Unfortunately, the biggest sticking point is this: my apartment's lease does not actually allow pets. Past landlords turned a blind eye, and other people's cats have stayed there before. Even this latest, slum-landlord, allowed
cheesehead1701 and her cat, Aja, to live with me unimpeded for 6 months. The downstairs neighbor has the eternally howling pitbull. The other neighbors downstairs have a bird and a little terrier. But the slum-landlord has grown steadily more hostile toward me and my next door neighbor, Judy. Our 2 units pay the least amount of rent and he wants us out. Last year, when Judy briefly fostered a little dog, he tried to evict her over it. So, just in case, I wrote the landlord a polite letter on July 1, asking for official permission to have pets. He ignored it. On July 15, I found the next perfect kitten.
I had seen this cat earlier in the week, lurking in the bushes outside my office building. I figured it was another of the many feral cats on this campus. Friday, my coworker was standing in the same place, talking to someone, and the cat came out of the bushes and she picked it up. Dirty, starving, weak, it clung to her, purring. She took it back to her office and called me.
All I wrote before was true still: all the reasons not to. The landlord did not return my 8 messages. It could become a huge mess if he wants to be a jackass about it. But it's like that joke: A man prays to God every night, asking to win the lottery. One day, the heavens open up and God says, "Look, I really want to help you out here, but would you at least buy a lottery ticket?!" Yes, I believe in fate. But you have to be ready when the hand of providence reaches down and gives you that firm, butt-loving shove.
I was ready.
My new cat:
Re: P.S.