Walk into your local Humane Society, spend an hour petting and playing with and even snuggling kittycats, and then walk back out without one, even though there were over 20 of 'em there and they were all, to a cat, adorable. I can't overemphasize it: This place HAD NO BAD CATS. They were all sweet and purry and playful and gorgeous.
But none of them were for me.
You know what a place like that does to me? It makes me feel horrid for having preferences. But I do have preferences and considering I still have, you know, a whole 'nother cat at home here, I kind of HAVE to have preferences. Like, no females. Sally hates other female cats. Boys she likes, even loves--she and Cocoa were best friends forever and, yes, she's been very mopey since he's been gone--but girls, forget it.
So of course the two young kittens at the shelter were girls. Very, very sweet girls, too--a little medium-haired orange tabby and a feisty all-black tailless one. I considered going home with the black one. She had a great personality. But she also had a very diva-like personality and this would not have gone over well with Sally.
And then I felt like a jerk for wanting a kitten--not a one-year-old, not a two-year-old, but a kitten kitten--but you know something? I have never purchased an animal. My mother bought me a kitten years ago, when I was about 11, and an ex-boyfriend once bought me a kitten from a pet store (I don't think there even are pet stores anymore but if there are? NEVER DO THIS, because holy shit, was that cat neurotic, because you know the pet stores buy them from kitten mills and fill them full of drugs and whatnot).
But me-myself, I have never bought a cat. Nor have I ever adopted one from a shelter. I haven't had to, because the cats have always had a knack for finding me before I can even think about looking for them.
For example, my brother brought home Sally and her brother (he owns her brother, who is also orange-and-white and very, very cute) after a guy at his job brought them in saying he'd found them abandoned by the side of a highway (that is so Texan, by the way). And Cocoa I had from his very birth because I took in a pregnant stray I found hiding behind a dumpster. I intended to give away all the kittens, but he was born with a massive abdominal wall hernia and I didn't think I'd have any luck palming a kitten with surgical needs off on anybody and, well, he was adorable. The mother wouldn't stop attacking another cat I had, though, so she went first to my brother and then to another family.
And I must have half a dozen other stories like that, or more if you count the kittens I made my boyfriend adopt back when he had his own place (they were FELV-positive and are now sadly both deceased), so, yeah: Me getting the kitten hookup has never been a problem.
So the thing is, I think I've been damned good to stray cats over the years, which means I also think that, by gum, if I want to be all fucking particular for once, instead of just taking whichever kitty mews its way into my heart first, then, well, I've earned the right to do that. I have done my time in the trenches with stray cats. So if I walk into the shelter and there are no red tabby male kittens and I really, really, really have my heart set on a red tabby male kitten, and you know, the adoption fee is ninety-five fucking dollars, then--
--then, I still feel like an asshole for rejecting all those other cats. Oh, hell.
Maybe I'll get lucky and one will just show up on my doorstep. It wouldn't be the first time.