One day last week I said to Fred, “Perhaps we could just keep Reacher and Corbie here as fosters until they’re adopted by someone.”
Given how they reacted to being in the cage at Petsmart last time, I was not looking forward to the idea of taking them to Petsmart again. I mean, I never like taking the babies to Petsmart, but for the most part they adapt pretty well and don’t spend a huge amount of time there before they’re adopted. But things are so slow adoption-wise right now, that I was afraid they’d languish for months.
“Maybe we should think about bringing Buster and Rhyme home and just keeping all four here ’til they’re adopted,” Fred said.
“Yeah. But we should wait a few more weeks and see if they aren’t adopted before we bring them home,” I said. “Maybe they’ll get lucky.”
“Okay,” he said.
We were out running errands Saturday morning, and I opened my big stupid mouth and suggested that we stop by Petsmart just to visit with Buster and Rhyme and Melodie, Moxie, and Dodger. And we did visit with them, and Fred started giving me THE LOOK, and before I knew it…
When we left the house that morning, I had no idea we’d be coming back with Buster and Rhyme, and so instead of doing it the right way – putting them in a room for a few hours, at least, so they’d adjust to being here before letting them out to explore a little – we just let them out of the carriers into the house. I don’t have any doubt that they knew exactly where they were. But Buster is a bit of a drama queen and seemed a little overwhelmed, and he walked around growling and smacking at everyone.
He smacked Miz Poo, who was minding her own business, and I said “OH NO YOU DID NOT JUST DO THAT, BUSTER JONES*!” and made Fred hold him while I trimmed his front claws. He spent the rest of the day walking around in a state of high dudgeon. We were going to put them in the guest bedroom overnight (Rhyme was a little hissy, but mostly behaving himself, we were just going to put him in to keep Buster company), but as the evening wore on Buster calmed down a little. So we left them out overnight and everything was fine. Buster was still a little growly and yowly yesterday, but not nearly as bad as he’d been on Saturday, so hopefully given a few more days, he’ll calm down completely.
So, please, y’all. For the love of god – if you know anyone in the Alabama/ Tennessee area who’s looking to adopt some great, gorgeous, sweet 8-9 month-old kittens, feel free to steer them in our direction. Our house is about bursting at the seams with cats. We need to find these Bookworms homes of their own!
(I will box the ears of every person who suggests we keep them permanently. Or maybe I’ll just send them their very own Bookworm! Mwahahaha!)
*His other nicknames: Buster Brown (I very often say “Buster Brown, he’s a clown. He gets around!”, because I’m a dork) and Busties. In fact, most of the cats in this house have their names shortened and then an “ies” added to the end. Reacher’s nicknames are Reacher-Creature, Creature, Creatchies, and Reachies. Corbett is almost always Corbies, unless he’s Hello, Gorgeous. Sometimes Corbie McGee, too, now that I think about it. Rhyme hasn’t really picked up a nickname other than Rhymies and sometimes Rhymebones. I don’t think there’s a single cat in this house who doesn’t have, at minimum, two nicknames.
2009: “HEY I DON’T KNOW IF YOU KNOW THIS BUT I HAVE NOT EATEN YET!”
2008: No entry.
2007: I’m sure it’s eyeball cancer and we’ll have to put a pirate patch on him and it will cost one million dollars to cure him.
2006: No entry.
2005: The quintessential Crazy Eyes.