Kitten Hunters

I think I’m crazy.  Or adoption happy, one of the two.  Last week, we decided that Little Miss should have a kitten of her own.  Violet is 14 years old and has never forgiven me for bringing Little Miss home.  She is quite happy to sleep in a sunbeam and be left alone.

For a seven-year-old girl, this is not fun.  So we are constantly telling her to “Put down the cat!” or “Stop torturing the cat!” or “Please let the cat out of your closet!!” True Story.  So, our solution was to bring in a cat that would be all hers. Brilliant plan, right?

We wanted to adopt a younger cat, hopefully a kitten, from a shelter.  So one Saturday we set off armed with vet records and seventeen forms of ID.  6 hours later, we returned home having seen one kitten and faced with pages of paperwork to fill out. 

Side note: I do believe it is easier to be approved for foster care than it is to adopt a cat. 

Hubby and I spend the next 4 days scouring shelters, Craigslist, and Petfinder online.  We made phone call after phone call to places so far away that we had to look them up on a map.  I applied to two different shelters that said they had cats.  We emailed people who said they had cats.  And we ended up…nowhere.

I should mention that we live near Lancaster County, so there are plenty of farms with plenty of barns that should have plenty of cats to choose from.  Finally, we decided to “just drive” and hope we saw a sign for “Free Kittens.”  I mean, we see them every time we drive around Lancaster, so it won’t be that tough, right? 

Not one sign.

Thank goodness a friend had mentioned that her neighbor had a sign out.  So we headed there first.  We knocked and….no one home. <Sigh.> So I left a business card with my number and crossed my fingers.  Next we drive to another pet store.  The Humane League didn’t show up until 3.  We checked our watches…1:15.  OK, so we decided to drive to the actual Humane League.  Surprise, they didn’t open until 3.  Go Figure.  Just as we were deciding to throw in the towel, my cell phone rang.  The man with the Free Kittens sign was on the other end and was home for lunch.  If we could get there in the next 20 minutes or so, he’d be there.  A quick check of GPS told us we could be there in 25 minutes.  Gulp.

Of course, every slow moving car and farm truck pulled out in front of us as we raced across Lancaster County.  We pulled into the driveway in 27 minutes.  Thank goodness he was still home! 

He had caught 3 of the kittens and had them in a crate.  While he tried to pull 2 out, a little orange kitty peeked out and came out of the crate all by herself.  All three of us said, “We’ll take her!”

So all’s well that ends well.  We have an adorable orange kitty who narrowly escaped being called “Rosie.”  But the lessons learned from our mishap:

1)   Never tell a seven-year-old she’s getting something when you aren’t sure where it’s coming from.

2)   Kittens are everywhere, unless you want one.