Norah has been saving her money in a bank for months. It's a bank that calculates the contents through some magical coin detector thingy. She had an idea that once it was filled, she would buy an orange cat.
We have a lot of loose change in our house. In drawers, on desks, in flower pots, in my bags. Everywhere. She hunted for every coin.
Then it filled up on Sunday.
Now, we're not "those" parents who fulfill every whim and wish of their child. We had actually planned on picking up a feline around Norah's birthday. We used to have a pretty kick-ass cat named Hobbes. We sort of missed having a furry companion anyway, and thought a pet for Norah would be a fabulous idea.
And there it was-- the bank was full. I had checked out the humane society's website and they had a ton of cats-- more than usual. Maybe it was the right time now.
So first we went to PetCo to get cat stuff-- litter box, brush, food, etc. When we arrived, we saw they were having an adoption event. There were four cages stacked two-on-top-of-two housing four cats. Norah was grinning ear to ear and poking her fingers through the bars. The cats were smashing their heads against the cage doors vying for some attention. And then Norah fell in love with Mongo.
Mongo, a grey and white little guy, is neutered, one and a half years old, and a very mellow, cuddly fellow. The other cats were also great, but the two kittens were too wild and bitey, and the bigger one didn't like being held. These traits are fine, of course, but not right for a "spirited" girl like Norah. He was the one.
As Ryan filled out 276,000 forms, Norah and I paraded Mongo around PetCo and she announced to every single patron that she "buyed" a cat. We met a couple people with dogs, to which Norah would say something like, "Meet Mongo! I buyed him," and then she'd grab some bone or ball from an end cap and hand it to the dog owners. "You need this?"
We got home, and I expected the cat to hide out under a bed for a week or so, but he made himself right at home, exploring every corner of the house and being very relaxed and accepting of the toddler following him around, shrieking with laughter and shouting out commands like "Sit here, Cat!", "Come here, Mongo!", and "Look at my Bear Bear!"
Norah showed the cat all of her favorite toys, like Bear Bear, Go Go, and the like. She threw tiny unsettlingly realistic toy mice for him, and he chased it and attacked to her delight. She even brushed his head, which resulted in a quiet purr. They played Doctor Noonie together and Mongo silently submitted to his physical, which included being measured with Ryan's tape measure and reflex checking with a toy hammer. He even licked her after she was done, which was sweet, but Norah was confused that his tongue was "ow-y." And after school on Monday, Ryan and Norah came home and for the first time, I didn't hear, "MAMA!" I heard "MONGO!" (Sniff.) But I'm glad they're good buddies already.
|Mongo and Norah, spying on the neighbors|
Gentle and sweet with Norah
Cuddly and playful
Gives Norah something to play with that might allow me to read my book for ten minutes
Litter box. I forgot how unpleasant that is.
Hair. Not much so far, but I know it's coming. Ugh.
Mini blinds. Just leave them alone, you little asshole!
Begging. I dislike the begging for people food. Annoying.
Claws. So far I'm the only casualty. He was cuddling my head a couple nights ago and kneaded my scalp. Ouch.
Meowing. Not so bad, but unfortunately he only seems to do it really loudly when I'm on a work call.
Escape. He wants outside badly, but won't wear a harness without flipping out. So he lingers by the door, plotting his escape. Worst-case scenario, he gets out, runs away or gets killed by a car, and Norah is scarred for life. Great.
Farting. Since when do cats fart? Seriously? The "reason for surrender" stated "too many animals." I think the real reason was "unnaturally smelly farting."
Hmm. Maybe we should have made this list before getting the cat...