The Universe Works in Mysterious Ways

A week ago yesterday, so Oct. 3rd, I was talking with a friend and she asked me how I was doing without a cat. I said okay, really, I was all right without one for the time being, that maybe there would be a new one in my future--in fact, probably there would be, but not anytime soon, not least because I couldn't afford one just yet. And I wasn't ready emotionally for a new cat.

After the call, I was looking for something in my file cabinet and I found Smartie's "cat file", the one with all his old vet bills. Been looking for it for quite a while and there it was, right where it belonged. I started looking through it, looked at the oldest bill from the Animal Medical Center, where Bill used to take him before I got him and we started going to Animal Kind. It was from April 1991. And he was 9 months old at the time. Which means that Smartie was actually 18 years old, not 17 or 17.5.

Okay, it still hurts now, just typing that out. So you can imagine how I was leafing through that old folder. I called my friend back, crying and her husband answered and I had to tell him why I was crying--that I was okay with not having a cat anymore, but I was still not okay not having Smartie.

Here's where the Universe comes into it.

The very next morning, I noticed a small round dust bunny sitting in my living room where I hadn't noticed one before. It was before I'd had my coffee, so I emailed a friend and told them that I either had a new dust bunny or I had a mouse and I really wasn't sure which it was. A few minutes later, I heard a small noise and the dust bunny had disappeared. I called my friend and said that I was pretty sure I was going to need a good mouse removal service and he volunteered.

But first, I decided, I was going to check out the folks who have cats for adoption or--and here's the key--fostering outside the supermarket when the weather's nice. Sure enough, they had a lot of kittens...and one adult kitty. His name was Melvin.

Now, let's leave aside for a moment that I don't think there's a cat alive who should be named Melvin (although a friend on Echo had one who was a great companion for many years, RIP), but believe me when I say that this cat is no Melvin. He could almost be called Boing-Boing, but I decided that Spike is more appropriate and he does seem to like it.

Because, yes, I'm fostering Spike. That's all, fostering. No, I mean it, really! I still can't afford him and he's got some very annoying habits and I ... can't stand the idea that he'll go back to the shelter and get put in a cage until he finds a home. Plus, I need him here until the renovations are done downstairs for mouse deterrence purposes. Or mouse-catching purposes, but I really hope not. Spike definitely strikes me as the type who would leave a dead mouse for me on my pillow in the middle of the night.

But, anyway, after the renovations...we'll see. Anything could happen, right? Becuase the Universe works in mysterious ways.

P.S. The mouse? Oh, it reappeared that afternoon before the cat was delivered and I captured it under a plastic Halloween bucket I happened to have and then I called my friend, the Mouse Remover, and he came and took it out of here. He said it was mostly dead by the time he looked, but maybe it revived once he got it outside. Whatever. This may make me a bad person, but I figure, if it's outside, I'll leave it alone. Once it's inside my apartment, it's fair game.