I miss sitting at the computer, hearing the cat's feet pad over to me, pause a second and leap onto my desk at which point, kitty lays directly on top of the keyboard to let me know he's ready to be loved. I miss petting him twice and moving him to the opposite side floor, only to have him cross behind the chair and jump up again. And again. And again. And again. Ok, I don't miss that part as much because I find I get a lot more Facebook stalking done without the mobius strip that is the kitty-keyboard dance.
However, I miss having a cat around.
I asked Husband whether we could get another cat, which was probably not the best route to go if I really do want a cat. Husband is not a cat person to begin with; we only got the cats we had when we were dating and he was still willing to do things "for love" including have cats around and fold socks. Don't worry, since we wed, there are plenty of things I no longer feel the need to do, too. Wink wink-- do you get me ladies?
Ahh. So where was I? Yes, so I asked Husband if we could get another kitty and the echo of "NO!" still rings in my ears a week later.
And it's not that Husband is a father figure and I had to ask him permission to get a cat. It's more like we're partners and if something is going to impact our family for a substantial period of time, we discuss doing it. Whatever, right? Anyway, so I said, "Honey, could our family possibly get another cat?" and Husband shouted his negative response before I'd even mentioned the type of animal I was thinking about. Really, if I'd been smarter I would've changed "cat" for "Porsche sports car" and laughed heartily at his haste.
But I really want a cat. And Kiddo #1 wants a cat. So, sneakily, the next day, I suggested she talk to her father about her cat needs. He shot her down, too, which was both expected (why would HER request be honoured more than mine, when I've got WAY more seniority) and unexpected (her long eyelashes and gorgeous smile could make Scrooge sign away pay cheques to the poor.). Really. No huh?
The problem is that when I want something, I don't just kinda, sorta figure it'd be cool to have. I want it. Need it. Got to have it, and with his desire NOT to get a cat, my desire catapulted (ha) from an 9/10 to 90/10. It was all I could do to keep myself from getting one of those "My Husband said either the cat goes, or I do. I'm gonna miss him." bumper stickers.
So I started plotting and planning-- how could I get a cat without Husband knowing, and keep the cat without Husband being wise? Well, for starters our cat would have to be an indoor cat, which means I couldn't just build it some cat house (not one of those cat houses, but like a dog house, but for cats) and feed it spaghetti every morning like they do in Rome. So, just keeping it outside wasn't going to work. And we all know how difficult it is to make a cat do what you want -- so keeping it confined to my sewing room (an area that Husband never ventures) would be a fool's quest.
And then I realized that I could get the cat from either a friend or a pet store (but use cash so as to not arouse suspicion when "Cat Vendor" showed up on our Internet banking list) and just pretend someone dropped it over our chain link fence in the back yard! Ingenious! Husband would never suspect that.
Yes, oh yes, he would. He knows I would totally do something like that and he'd confront me and, since I'm the WORST LIAR ON THE PLANET (worse than Spongebob, I assure you) I'd confess everything.
Ok, but, then I realized that in order for him not to suspect anything, I had to make the scenario more real. More plausible.
So, when I went to the humane society yesterday, I picked up 5 kittens! Oh yes! He'd never suspect I was behind this, if I found a whole litter of cats in the backyard! He would assume that someone really did it -- our house backs to a walking path, so it's totally possible someone would drop off a whole litter of unwanted kittens into our 4 foot chain link fence. Why not?
I brought the mewling kittens into the house, gave them tons of love and posted my ad on craigslist and kijiji (which is Canada's craigslist). Then I, hastily, made some signs to post around the neighbourhood.
In retrospect, there were a few things that made Husband question my credibility:
Four Things That Made It Obvious That I Purchased The Litter Of Kittens
1) The phone number on the flyer was 555-5555, which (in case you're thinking of trying it) isn't my phone number, so anyone looking for the cats wouldn't be able to reach us/me.
2) The kittens were all spayed or neutered. I got them from the shelter, remember? It's kinda one of their requirements. So when Husband picked one up and found its stitches, he asked what kind of surgery I'd been performing on the kittens. I said, "None. They came spayed or neutered."
3) Clenching my eyes shut like you do when you stub your toe in the middle of the night after I said, "None. They came spayed or neutered." was another giveaway.
4) The kittens weren't from the same litter and therefore were vastly different sizes. And varieties.
Frick.
Yeah. And, like all my plans that have been thwarted to date, Husband realized the jig was up and looked me in the eyes and asked, "Wifey, did you have anything to do with these kittens finding their way to our house?"
And, like every other time Husband has looked me in the eyes, catching me in some trivial untruth, I faked deaf and pretended I could neither hear him nor could I read his lips. I then started shouting craziness, as though I'd been struck deaf at that very instant (kinda like that movie where that guy is pretend blind and then his sight comes back just as the Indian guy is gonna tomahawk his face to prove he wasn't blind, but the guy didn't flinch because even though he could see, he couldn't blow his cover. What movie was that? Kevin Costner movie? I dunno.).
I kinda wish I was Kevin Costner though, because Husband saw right through my rants and shouts of instant deafness and said, "Wifey, did you get these kittens?" and I couldn't do anything but sob, "Yes! Yes! I'm a liar and I'm not even deaf, either!"
Sobbing, sobbing on the floor. Really, it was the stuff of a 15-year old girl after her best friend stole her boyfriend. Oscar worthy, but not kitten-worthy. Boo.
Note to self: stop using "Dr Evil's Guide To Diabolical Plan Making." However, if you do want a kitten, I've got five that I'll let go for ... 1 billion dollars. Muah. Muah ha ha. Muah ha ha ha-- frick. Husband says we'll sell 'em for free, just get them outta the house.
Anybody want a cat? Or five?
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