So, here’s the thing. I have these two wonderful, adorable kittens, and I love them very very much. But, if you, too, have made the wonderful mistake of adopting kittens, you know what a handful they can be! Even with all my efforts- and I assure you my kitties are spoiled!- I cannot keep up with their demands for constant stimulation, and they get bored. They get bored with playing with the billion toys they have strewn all over the house, and they get bored of playing with each other, and they even get bored of playing with me. And they break shit. Specifically my shit. Sometimes my roommate’s, or my landlord’s shit. I give them a little heck, play with them until they’re tired, reward them for good behaviour, and move on. You know, cat mom stuff.
I’m not in the habit of saying my pets are special or better than anyone else’s pets, and I don’t mean to say that now when I say- I’ve had cats all my life and I have never had cats like these. They are smart. They absolutely know when they are doing something wrong and they do it on purpose. They’re like toddlers, doing the thing mom said no to when mom walks out of the room so you know she won’t catch you. I know this, because they have this look. This “Hands-caught-in-the-cookie-jar look”, this “I-promise-I-didn’t-do-it look”, this “look-mom-I’m-an-innocent-angel look”. It simultaneously endears them to me and drives me completely batty. I adore it, despite the fact that it means they just messed with my shit they know they aren’t supposed to mess with.
They know their names, too, and they know each other’s names and when it’s the other one getting in trouble and not them! I know because if I notice one of them going to do something I don’t want them to, I’ll say their name in a warning tone and they will freeze and stop what they are doing (most times). But despite me using the same voice for each of them, when one is getting in heck the other one won’t flinch. Sometimes they’ll even look at the other one like a child who wants to see their sibling get in trouble and gloat about it. I’ve had cats who’ve known their name, but the idea of a cat who knows other pets names never occurred to me. And perhaps that’s just my fault for being closed minded. I don’t know.
Now, I’ve always thought that I took these cats in of my own volition. Totally my own thought, my own desire. But lately I’ve had a thought. A thought that a certain beloved Trickster of mine might have had a little something to do with them entering my home. And I know that seems farfetched, and that I should have some better discernment, and realize not everything is godly intervention, and I know! But let me explain my thought. Let me tell you the story of how my fur babies came into my life and why I think they were a blessing from my lovely Trickster God.
This is Boba Fett, on the day I brought him home, last June. He was two months old and I adopted him from a local lady whose cat had just had kittens. I think she often has kittens to give away, as she has three unspayed female cats. This is how he came to be with me:
I was sitting in my apartment one day, by myself. My roommate wasn’t home, I had just finished cleaning my living room and I was sitting in it and sort of half scrolling through social media on my phone and half just being content with life and my own thoughts. Suddenly, I thought: I want a cat. So, I texted my friend who has three cats and asked her where she had adopted them from. She gave me the lady’s name, I messaged her on Facebook, and within the hour I had claimed a cat. I had to wait a week before I could pick him up, but he was mine. I went out and bought the necessary supplies right away.
Now, I suppose that all sounds rather mundane if you don’t know me. I assure you, it is not. I am not a spontaneous person. I’m very anxious, and very easily stressed out. I have to plan things well in advance before I do them. I don’t make impulsive decisions often outside of the occasional impulse buy at the grocery store. Just “getting a cat” was a big deal. Getting a cat within the hour of having the thought “I want a cat” is a big deal.
It has never occurred to me until now that that thought could have come from somewhere other than myself, and that maybe it was fate, or even just a little divine nudging, that brought Boba into my life.
And here he is now, at eight months old, a huge pain in my ass, and a constant warmth in my heart:
Fast forward to September. I’m scrolling through Facebook, and on our local animal shelter’s page is a post from a woman with a plea: a kitten has been abandoned on her doorstep and she hasn’t a clue how to take care of it, nor does she really like cats. Attached to the post was a picture of one of the most beautiful kittens I’ve ever seen in my life. I knew, though, if I got this kitten I wouldn’t have the money to get it fixed. And I am a strong believer in spaying and neutering your pets. So, I texted the picture to my roommate asking him if he wanted to also adopt a cat, because I really wanted to rescue her, but I knew I didn’t have the money to do it properly. A little convincing was in order. Eventually, my roommate told me that he didn’t want to adopt a cat because when the time came for us to no longer be roommates, he didn’t want to split them up. BUT, he said, I could adopt the cat, and he would pay to get her fixed as my Christmas present.
I had messaged the lady within twelve minutes of the plea being posted and drove out of town to get the kitten the very next day.
And so Domino came into our lives.
This is Dom the day we took her home.
She bonded to Boba instantly and they have been best friends ever since.
They are the light that keeps me going sometimes. And sometimes they are my biggest stressor. And I know that that is just the way of things when you have pets and want to look after them properly. I nearly had a mental breakdown trying to keep them away from my Christmas tree. But I also calm down immediately when I’ve got one or both of them snuggled up on my chest. Nothing makes me happier. Or frustrates me more.
And doesn’t that remind you of someone?
Maybe I just had a stroke of spontaneity these days, or maybe I did have a little push from Loki to adopt a couple of furry friends, but either way, they’ve been the embodiment of mischief since I’ve had them. A little source of chaos in my otherwise boring and orderly life. And it’s just so something Loki would do. To invite little creatures into my life to throw me out of rhythm, get me out of my rut, make a good mess for me to clean up, give me something to focus on outside of myself sometimes.
And I love Him for it.
And I love them for it.