Living in a new town has brought me around plenty of new people and a couple of old friends. One of these old friends is a woman who owns a local horse farm. It’s been fun for me to stop by and do some chores, enjoy a little “horse time” and catch up on shared acquaintances and a little gossip here and there.
But when I realized that there was a cacophony of cats and kittens up near the main house — well, my hazard lights went on.
Along with a local cat lover and advocate, I spent some time and effort in figuring out a way to get the adult cats spayed and neutered (and we even found homes for a few of the friendlier ones), but then there were THE KITTENS.
The youngsters were divided into two camps: the black ones and the tuxedo ones. A handful were in the very adoptable two- to four-month age range, but there was also a gaggle of gangly adolescent kittens who were growing far too quickly into the look of full-grown cats.
Clearly, time was of the essence.
And then I met the little black female who seemed to seek me out whenever I visited. Oh, my heart was torn! I am currently down to two happy and content middle-aged cats (down from four a few years ago); and with our recent relocation and other changes, it just didn’t feel like the best time to add a new, unknown variable into the mix (albeit a very, very cute one).
And so I waited a few days. I made some inquiries about the best veterinary practices in the area, and I had the cat carrier by the door at the ready.
The first chilly night that I turned on the heat — and even lit a fire — helped me reach my decision. The next day, I made my way to pick up the kitten before taking her to the vet. But when I got to the farm, I was told that a lady from Woodstock had adopted her the previous day — and that she got the most loving of homes.
For the kitten — and certainly for me and my two cats at present — this can be considered a win-win. But I strongly suspect there will be a next time!
