On Cats... And How They Ruin/Enrich Our Lives

When I was a young girl my parents had a cantankerous siamese cat. His name was Ti and he hated me. I'm sure he felt justified with every hiss, scratch, bite and glaring look... But I didn't understand... I was little, and wanted to hug the cute out of everything small and furry.

Ti's behavior caused an early fear of cats in me. Fortunately, many of my friends had wonderful loving kitties (I'm looking at you Superman and Nitwit) and by the time I graduated from college, I was ready to possess my own tiny, furry orphans.

Leeloo and Chance... Sister and Brother... One loud and demanding, the other quiet and observant... Both wonderful and loving. They were strays, 10 months old (ish) and emaciated. But they were cute and furry... so I was SOLD! Into my life they tumbled.

Having never owned cats, I had no idea what I was doing. However, after recently earning a degree in physics, I concluded that I was capable of figuring them out... without bothering with books or any of that learning-the-easy-way crap. Once I learned to keep the toilet paper, cords, food and glasses of pigmented beverages out of the way, I thought I was doing alright.

And then it all started to fall apart.

Chance "decided" (a word chosen from my erroneous perspective) to start urinating on piles of my laundry, then on the carpet, then on my couch, then... finally... on my bed... while I was laying in it!

I was furious.

People counseled me to get rid of him... but he is just too damn cute!

Finally I saw him attempt to use the litter box. Nothing came out and he growled as he jumped out. One phone call to the vet later I was panicked and felt horribly guilty. His urethra was fully blocked! After a quick procedure and much yowling on Chance's part, the blockage was cleared, meds were given and we were sent home.

To make a long story short, Chance continued to urinate on everything but his litter. After months of retraining I now have a cat who waits till I get home, or comes to get me when he needs to use the box, because he wants his treat after doing the deed. Which is great. Except when we aren't home.

After a lovely weekend away in roller derby heaven we returned to a guest bed saturated in cat urine.

This is the second time this has happened.

This is also the bed we are hoping our future child will sleep in.

...

I fell apart. The weekend was a lovely escape. A distraction from my emotions. And now it was all back... I could pretend I was doing better, but really I was just running from the hurt.

I'm better now. I know Chance doesn't hate the idea of us adopting... I know he has issues with change, and he will adapt. I know he thinks piles of unused bedding are a good alternative to the litter box. I know it was just a coincidence that all this happened in the same week. I know this...

But I still feel rotten.

Rotten. Scared. Denied. Heartbroken. Lonely. Confused.

And I know I am coming to terms with it all. And I know it may (probably will) happen again. I know I'll be stronger the next time. I just hope "stronger" doesn't become "apathetic."

Now I (kinda) get it

I've never liked it when people say, "I understand what you're going through."

 Probably because when I am going through it, I am utterly convinced that no person in the history of history has ever felt what I was feeling. But, when we take a step back, and make things less personal than they need to be... it seems that most everything that happens, has indeed happened to someone else, in some similar form, at some previous time.

 For the past year my girlfriend and I have been taking steps to prepare ourselves to become adoptive parents. Neither of us wants a baby, so we are looking for a kid. Someone who likes legos, playing outside, being silly and is potty trained. We probably should be more specific than that, but we really aren't. We don't have an exact age, or even much or a range nailed down. The child's gender is of little interest to us, and we are open to all races.

This process has been interesting... that's a strange word for it, but I really don't know what else to say... I've never done anything like this. So, naturally, I look to the Internet for information. Trying to find a blog to read has been somewhat challenging. It seems that the main reason people look to adopt an older child is because they are called, by a god, to help that child. Since neither my girlfriend or myself are god(s) fearing or god(s) loving people I find it difficult to connect with the message in those blogs. And since one of my friends has told me, more than once, that if I wrote a blog, she would read it... I decided to start my own blog, about my (our) journey... Not just about adoption... but that seems to be where it will start.

Over the past month we made a connection with a fifteen year old girl. We met up a couple of times, went out to a nature festival, ate cupcakes, enjoyed fine asian dining, watched some movies and chatted a bit on the long rides to bring her back to her current "home." Putting quotes there feels insensitive... because at this moment in time, the place in which she resides is her home... but it seems almost cold to call that a home. We are lucky our residences for displaced children are unlike the orphanages of the past (or of the present in other countries), even still, a bunch of dreary buildings, a family paid to watch over you and mass produced lunches just doesn't feel like the kind of home I'd want my child to live in for any length of time.

Going into details is not something I'm going to do here. Not just because I cannot, but because I won't. Yesterday our placement with this sweet young girl officially fell through. On our end there was much crying over the past two days, and I assume there will be more tears, especially as we continue to find evidence of her weekend stay with us around our home.

It seems like ALL of my friends are pregnant right now :) This is a wonderful thing... I get to feel super tiny humans kicking around inside my friends' abdomens! One thing that has always perplexed me is why families wait until after the 3rd trimester to tell anyone they are expecting. I know the rate for miscarriage is between 10 and 25% in the first trimester, and that is the reason my friends give for holding their tongue. Having never been pregnant, it is difficult for me to truly appreciate their decision... but I always thought, that even if you miscarry, and everyone knows you were pregnant, then you would have this big awesome group of people to lean on.

It's crazy how many kids there are waiting for a home. And I (we) can't help them all... and for each one it will be a different reason. I know what we are feeling now is different from what a family feels when a miscarriage happens. But I'm starting to understand why people might keep their little treasure a secret. We're so lucky to have such wonderful people in our lives. Since letting my facebook world know the sad news yesterday, I have received some very heartfelt texts and warm, wonderful hugs.

Dear friends, Thank you for not letting us suffer this situation alone. We are fortunate to have you, and glad we had the courage to share our news with you. Your strength and love is helping our sadness to grow into acceptance. Thank you.

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