Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Copy Cats

Apparently, we're copy cats.

My best friend Jennifer got a cat.

I made the mistake of telling Tom.

Then he got the idea in his head that we needed a cat.


Even though the agreement was that we'd wait until we came back from Disney.

But Tom couldn't get the idea of a cat out of his head.

He made the mistake of opening up the Animal Shelter webpage and browsing the cats that were up for adoption.

"Aww, look at this one!" he'd call out.

I'd refuse to look.

Looking leads to interest. Interest leads to buying.

Today, he wore me down.

I am a total cat person. Looking at all those cats made my heart melt.

"We can just go to the shelter. To look," Tom added.

Can anyone seriously go to a shelter and just look??

No, they can't.

I agreed.

We walked in and were told where all the cats were.

"We're just looking," I told lady firmly.

She just nodded and gave me a knowing look.

That's what they all say.

We walked back and found a bunch of kittens in a small room. Most of them were sleeping. One was chasing a ball back and forth.

I squatted down and peered in.

That cat who was chasing a ball walked up and pressed his nose against the window. Then he pressed his paw up.

Save me. Adopt me. Love me.

"I'm sorry, kitty. We're just looking," I said.

The paw remained against the window.

Save me. Adopt me. Love me.

"Kitty, I can't," I said firmly.

"Aww Amber," Tom said from behind me. "Just play with it."

"Playing leads to adopting," I hissed.

"Just play with it," Tom said and then he went off to ask for help.

A few minutes later a worker came back and got the cat out for me.

"You can go in that room and play with him," she said, pointing. "I'll come in with you with some paperwork."


"We're just looking," I said firmly.

But then she placed the cat in my arms. So soft. So tiny.

"He's a really good cat," she told me. "He's litterbox trained."

Litterbox trained?

"He's also already neutered," she added.

"We're just looking," I repeated, less firmly as the cat pressed his nose against my chin.

Save me. Adopt me. Love me.

"You guys can talk it over. I'll be right back," she said, shutting the door behind her.

The cat started PURRING.

"Aww kitty, I just can't," I said, setting him down. He immediately started playing with a piece of string.

"Amber, he's so cute," Tom piped up.

As if on cue, Natalie laughed at the cat.

"Tom," I hissed. "We're just here to look. I don't think I can take another penis in the house. I'd be the one stuck taking care of it. Who would clean out the litter box? Me, that's who."

"I'd help," Tom promised.

"Tom, I.."

The kitty came over and sat in my lap.

Save me. Adopt me. Love me.

The worker came back in with a clipboard of papers.

"So? Have we decided?"

Tom stared at me.

I HATE when he does this. Makes me make the decisions.

"I," I started. "I..I mean.."

"Mew," the kitty said.

"He is litterbox trained," Tom said.

"And he's a good cat," the worker added. She could tell that Tom needed her help. I swear I saw her wink at him at one point.

Mwhaha. We will convince your wife to take this cat.

"I mean..what if he scratches Natalie? Or bites her? Or suffocates her?" I said.

"Amber. I highly doubt the cat is going to suffocate Natalie," Tom said with a roll of the eyes. He gave the worker a Look.

Sorry. My wife is one of those paranoid mothers.

"The cat would only be $40. All his shots are updated except his rabies shot. You get a free visit to a vet of your choice so it can look the cat over to make sure everything is okay," the worker said.

"We have nothing to take the cat home in," I said.

"We give you a box to take him home in," the worker said triumphantly.

"We have no litter box or food."

"We give you a free bag of food."

"And we can go to Wal-Mart and get a litter box," Tom piped in.


They both stared at me.

Even Natalie stared at me.

Even the cat stared at me.

"Oh...I mean...I guess," I said weakly as the cat began to purr.

Ten minutes later we were signing adoption papers.

How did that happen??!!


Without further ado, meet Max:

It took us awhile to come up with a name.

Tom was all, "Let's name him Rommel!"

Apparently he was a general in World War 2.

"Um, no," I said. "How about Beans?"

Tom made a face. "As in Beans Beans the magical fruit? Next," Tom said.

"Henry," I suggested. "For Henry VIII."

"No," Tom replied. "Churchill. Panzer."


"As in a Panzer Tank!" Tom said.


"P-38. B-17," Tom shot off.

"Sunny," I said.

"Sunny? No way."

"Well you wanted to name him B-17!"

"That was a joke. He can be called Rambo."

"Tom honestly. Rambo?"

It went on and on.

Finally, I piped up with, "He sort of looks like a Max."

Tom went, "You know, that name popped in my head too. He does look like a Max."

So Max it is.

Max is currently sleeping in his bed thing that we bought him.

Tommy thinks he's cool.

Natalie thinks he's hilarious. Look Ma! The bushy thing moves!

So I guess I made the right decision...


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