Those of you who don't get attached to pets are invited to move along now. Nothing to see here.
People with my husband's health problems are advised to not have pets. But we had pets already, when he fell ill. Two cats. Dear to us. So we decided to not
add any more pets and see if we could somehow squeak by with extra attention to house cleaning. We gave it a good shot, but we finally decided the cats had to go.
So we've been asking around, sometimes in earnest, and sometimes (to be honest) half-
heartedly, hoping to find someone who could take two indoor-only cats at once so the longtime pair could stay together.
But. Our biggest fear has been that we would
accidentally put one or both of them into a bad situation. We care what happens to them. So we decided early on that while getting them a home together would be nice, we'd settle for separate homes if the homes seemed safe and caring: Free to a good home, emphasis on good.
We haven't had many nibbles. These are middle-aged cats; not old, but certainly not kittens. People want kittens, for the most part.
And then yesterday, when my husband was down checking a few things at our gas station cum bookstore, a customer mentioned that he was getting ready to go out of town to a humane society to get a cat. Here was a man willing to drive more than a hundred miles and pay an adoption fee, just to get a cat. The
attendant, who knew we needed to find homes for George and Gracie, pointed out my husband and announced that there was a man who had cats that needed new homes.
And so,
bam, just like that, a man came by and talked with George a while and we put her in a box and he drove away with her.
He seems to be good with cats. He's had cats. My husband and I were both impressed by his manner and his apparent good sense. He also arranged, all on his own, to have the box in the front passenger seat, so he could reassure her more easily as he drove. I think, in other words, that we probably found her a good home. I'm not scared for her, which is the main thing. Which helps.
But.
Excuse me if I fall into puddles now and then.
After George left, Gracie wandered around a bit, searching, calling. We looked at each other and predicted that she'd either need extra reassurance during the night or would give us the royal cold shoulder treatment, one or the other. We were wrong. She was perfectly all right last night. I wasn't, but she was.
This morning, Gracie is doing everything short of
basking in the relative peace and quiet of a George-free environment. Not that she didn't launch at least as many surprise attacks on George as the other way around.
I don't know why I'm surprised. Gracie is a "the universe revolves around me" sort of cat. She's happy, especially if she's got an audience.
She needs a home, though. She's a bit plain Jane to look at (OK, she faintly resembles a cross between a cat and a
raccoon), but she's superb at sprawling across your lap when you're trying to read. Anybody local who has a lead, please contact my husband. Thanks.
Update later the same day: I spoke too soon. Gracie gets nervous and cries if left alone, or when either my husband or I leave the house.
On the upside, she hasn't deigned to
play with us mere humans in a while, but today she was running after tossed toys and playing hide and seek, etc. Vigorously. I guess humans will do if there's not another cat around.
