It happened because I was sick, dammit

We had a snap of seriously cold weather recently, like half the country, it seems. I slept through a lot of it, but I wasn’t in a coma and I wasn’t immune to hearing the kids both complain about it (we can’t go anywhere!) and celebrate it (no school!) At some point I heard Alex telling Kevin he needed help moving the dog house closer to the back door, which puzzled me because there was no reason to put Tank outside for more than a minute at a time.

But, when I heard Rachel digging in the hall closet, I got up to ask her what they were doing. She was looking for old towels and blankets because there was a kitten hanging around the back yard and they didn’t want it to freeze.

I vaguely remembered hearing the weather on the news; even with the doghouse, that cat would have been a goner. The temperature wasn’t going to come anywhere near zero, and the wind chill was in the sub-twenties.

This is how I know I was sick: I told them to grab it if they could, and then set up a place for it in my office. We have two cats so there was cat food in the house and they’re pretty clever; they could come up with a litter box. I told the kids to make sure the door stayed closed and to keep Tank and our cats away from it, and then went back to bed. And then I forgot about our feline visitor.

Yesterday morning Char reminded me of the extra furball and said it was warming up; the cat would be all right outside as long as I let the kids keep feeding it and provided blankets in the dog house. But it had been in the office long enough already, and if they were feeding it, they might as well keep feeding it inside.

Just keep the dog away from it, so he wouldn’t be tempted to eat it, and the other cats, because they’re both borderline stupid and who knows what they would do?

Yesterday evening, though, someone left the office door open. I heard soft meowing and a dog whining, so I tore into there, afraid Tank was having himself either a snack, or just terrorizing it. I walked into the room where Tank was curled up on the floor and Goofy and Pluto lounged on the chair with this little black furball between them.

There was massive head licking, but no fighting.

I picked the little furball up and realized it was maybe 3 months old. And it purred hard, trying to crawl up my arm so it could rub against my face. With an oh holy crap feeling I sat on the floor and let it crawl on me, wanting to see what Tank and the other cats would do.

And the biggest mistake? Char walked in and saw me playing with this kitten and joined in.

Char presumed we were only left with a few choices: put her back outside (there was a gender check) and risk her running off to who knows what, try to find her a home, or take her to a no kill shelter. Because she knew, without a doubt, that I would not allow another cat in this house.

But, she’s just a kitten and the dog didn’t try to eat her. Goofy and Pluto seem to love her. She might die if put outside. In a shelter she might not find a family for months, and as hard as she was purring, she needs people. I don’t know anyone of our friends who want a cat. And really, what’s one more cat to feed?

I want to keep her.

No, Char couldn’t believe I was saying that any more than I could. The kids spent the afternoon looking for missing cat flyers around the neighborhood just in case, and looked for a mother cat looking for her kitten, but nothing turned up. We’ll still keep an eye out but I think we have another cat.

Her name is Cheeto, and screw the kids, she’s mine.