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28 august 2000

i met wilma this weekend

If any members of my family or close friends are reading this, I would advise you to sit down for this one. Cause you're really really not going to believe this one.

So I'm tooling around on Friday, running errands and such, and I haul a load of household trash to the dump. (I live in a rural area without garbage pickup.) I throw everything into a bin and am about to get back into the car, when I see a small, charcoal-colored kitten foraging around the lot. It is very small, but carries itself with great aplomb. I become curious.

Now, you have to know that I am NOT a cat person. I'm not even a pet person, but definitely not a cat person. I've had asthma all my life, and cats really do a job on me. Between shutting down all lung function and swelling my eyes shut, they've made my life miserable on too many occasions to count. I don't know what I ate or drank that would have given me any sympathy for this particular critter. But I did. Drat it.

So I slowly walk toward the cat, partially to make sure it's not feral or rabid or something. I get down on my knees and just lay my hands, face up, in front of my legs. And I wait for her to come to me. I'm sitting like a big dope in the middle of the Ashland dump, inviting a cat over to me.

Pigs flying. Hell frozen.

Anyway, she does finally creep toward me, all mewly and exceptionally cute. She really is a tiny little thing, and no good will come of her here. So I ask one of the attendants for a big box, have him place her inside, and -- here you have it -- I brought her home. If you listen carefully, you will hear my dad and sister falling out of their chairs this very moment.

Now, being as I am so not a baby pet person, I have absolutely no idea what to do with this squeaky little furball. Feeding it seems like a good idea, but you can't just pull up to the drive-thru window and get a Happy Meal for it (can you?) So I haul myself all the way over to Wal-Mart, have to ask some guy where they keep pet stuff, and am faced with an aisle of more cat crap than I ever knew existed. Food, toys, litter, nippy things, cleaning stuff...I was a BIT overwhelmed. I figured I'd better stick with the basics for now, so I grabbed some infant critter formula, a little suckle bottle, a dish, some medicated shampoo, clumpy litter, and a ball of yarn. Oh yeah, and some food. The canned kind.

Alright, we get back home. Cat is still mewling something awful. I'm still not sick. I put on some rubber gloves, and get to the first order of business. Cat's gotta eat. So I pour some of that formula into the suckle bottle, and feed her. Or rather, she grabs the bottle and gulps it down no no time flat. What little I do know about cats, is that they know when to stop eating (unlike dogs), so I assumed she was quite malnourished. But I didn't want her to get sick, and saved the next feeding for later that evening.

Next -- Cat needs a bath. So I fill up a tub with warm water, and (you guessed it) I do the deed. I give her a really good bath. She actually wasn't in bad shape. Aside from some fleas, I didn't see any rashes or funky stuff in her crevices. And, amazingly, she didn't fight me. She didn't even bare her claws. After a good rinse, I wrapped her up in an old but comfy towel. I took off the rubber gloves. Then I just kind of looked at her.

She looked square back at me, like she knew I was trying to help her out.

We sat like that for a long while like that, getting to know one another. Wrapped in the towel, she sounded pretty happy, doing that purr thing and snoozing off and on. Me and a cat. Geez.

Saturday morning arrives, and there's no sleeping in for me. Gotta take Cat to the vet for a thorough checkup, and I'm the first one in the door at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Everyone melts. Cat gets the complete workup, including first vaccinations, flea treatment, disease tests, and an age estimate (we think she's a little over a month old.) Aside from being a little small for her age, the vet says she's in very good shape, and I get to take her home all healthy-like. She seems delighted to be nestled in my arm again, purrs like she's got batteries in her abdomen, and we all go home. She likes riding in the car.

So I don't know what else to tell you. Except maybe her name. Wilma is sleeping as I write this. I hope she feels safe. I will be renewing my allergy shot regimen early next week.