Announcement

It's boy! 9 pounds 7 ounces

We brought home baby #4 today. 

After I asked all the neighbors, made signs and scoured Craigslist for an owner, we decided that grey kitty was indeed homeless (and had been for at least a month). He's outside at all hours of the day—I could find him any time of the day. There's no time that he appears at his house. He weathers storms, comes to me with tree sap and pine straw in his fur. And he really wanted to live with us.

Hey mom, there's a cat outside.

Mom, there's still a cat outside.

He's sleeping on our doormat.

Kitty rubbing against my ankles. "Please! I can live with youz?"

He picked us. He adopted us. He'd nap on our porch. He had a spot under a bush to the side of our porch that he'd nap in. And for the last few days, he's been persistent in getting in the house. This morning he got so far as to put a foot on the silver door jam. He tries to sneak in every time we bring Mojo in or out.

And finally Matt decided that kitty needed a home. We could either tell him YES or NO for living with us.

We told him MAYBE. Get a clean bill of health from the vet and we'll consider it.

But did I really want another cat? The closer we got to actually adopting the cat, the more filled with dread I became. Matt told me I could take him to the vet. I put it off a day—trying to decide. I woke up Thursday morning wanting a sign, any sign YES OR NO. Am I supposed to have this cat?

I walked down the stairs and closed my eyes. I told myself that if he was sleeping on our doormat, then it was meant to be. If he wasn't there, then maybe not.

I rounded the corner, and there he was, sleeping on the doormat.

I called the vet as soon as they opened and made the appointment.

I'd been calling the vet all week—the secretary was remembering me and all of my questions about adopting strays: how much would it cost to get all of his tests, no, he's not allowed in the house, etc.

And taking kitty to the vet was surprisingly easy.

I left work an hour early and called for the kitty when I got home. I went inside and changed and kitty was sitting on the porch. It took two shoves to get him in the carrier and then put  him in the car. He cried a lot at first, but after about five minutes, he decided that he liked the air conditioning and he was supposed to be taking an afternoon nap anyway.

Really, he didn't meow nearly as much as Katie. And I was brainstorming names like Meredith Grey and Roxie.

It's a boy!
We got to the vet very early to out appointment. The cat isn't microchipped and the vet tells me he's a boy. A neutered male. And I was instantly in shock.

A boy!

I had thought girl. The cat was affectionate. And I was so sure the cat was in heat a month ago—with all the MEOWING!! and rolling around.

Then I ask the vet, "so that means he's not pregnant."

The vet laughed. "Yes, that means he's not pregnant."

I was so worried SHE was pregnant and I'd have to worry about kittens that I don't have time for or the cost of spaying. What a relief! The pregnant cats always seem to find me. I think I have SUCKER written in catnip across my forehead.

But being a boy confused me thoroughly. In my head, the cat was a girl. And then we'd have two boys and two girls. A boy meant three boys and one girl. Poor Katie.

The cat was also neutered, which saves me time and money. But that was problematic. Because it means he was someone's pet—someone spent the money to neuter him, cared about him.

And while I went to the vet full of hope and optimism that THIS WAS MY NEW CAT, I was confused, guilt-ridden.

Is this someone's cat? What am I supposed to do?

There was a lot of indecisiveness as I called Matt and tried to figure out what to do.

But this cat was not being taken care of—he was not being fed (except occasionally by a neighbor who said the cat wasn't his), he was not being looked after. He was clearly in distress and needed a house.
So I told the vet to go ahead and do the tests. They came back clean. And a few minutes later I told him to go ahead and give him all of his shots and deworm him—just in case. If he'd had the shots before, getting them again wouldn't hurt him.

The new cat did wonderfully at the vet. He was well behaved. He was prowling the exam room like a seasoned pro. Even the vet complimented his behavior and said he was really good when getting weighed and getting bloodwork done. He was SOOO good. He squirmed a little when getting his shots—but other than that, he was better than I had hoped. (I worried that he would go in the vet spitting and hissing like a feral cat.)  And really when he did hide under the vet or squirm, I couldn't blame him. Probably, the last time he was at the vet, he lost his balls :(

$150 later and it's time to take the kitty home.

I got him in the carrier, but when I got to the hall, he popped the side door open.

"Kitty on the loose," I yelled, as I tried to wrangle the kitty back into the pepto pink carrier.

It was grooming day at the vet and the vet techs had been very concerned about all the dogs in the lobby. The nice girl (who I'd been on the phone with all week) rushed over to help secure my little escape artist and finally we were on our way home. Not too much crying and again the kitty was digging the A/C. (He cried a lot before the AC got cranked up).

Home
And then we were home. Kitty was home. I brought him in the pink carrier and it was his first taste of being inside our house. Gunnar saw kitty right away. This was the kitty that he'd been ferociously attacking the door trying to get at. But Gunnar just seemed curious and asked to sniff the carrier. He did and it went well. Then I went up to the upstairs bathroom.

Matt got the kitty a litter box and something to scratch. I found some new toys in our pet cabinet and we gave them to kitty.

Kitty just wanted to sleep and hide. Poor guy was beat, which is understandable. He had a big day. Getting crammed in a carrier by the lady you thought was nice. Getting shots. Getting shoved into a small tiled room.

He kept trying to hide behind the hamper. Finally, he curled up on a towel we set out for him, and just slept. He had no interest in toys, but he did eat like he'd never see food again. He wolfed his kibble down (it was heart breaking really) and licked all the crumbs.

"Please sir, can I have some more?"

Poor starving kitty. You have a house now. You have people and air conditioning—even a dog to play with! We let Mojo go in the bathroom to play with the dog and then we turned off the lights and went to bed.

More on little kitty later.