So There's This Cat

Right around the time that we started working on the new house, two little kittens wriggled out from underneath our new neighbor's shed and wandered up into the job site. They were tiny little things with socket-like fuzzy hair and lots of goop oozing out of their eyes. I named them Emmylou and June.

How fortuitous that we would by a home and it would come with kittens. I asked the neighbor with the shed about them and he said, "Aren't they so cute? They were born in our shed there."

"Are they yours? Are you going to keep them?" I asked with obvious intentions.

"Nah, they're just hanging around. You can have them."

"I can?"

"They can be your little outdoor buddies."

So in that moment I knew I was the care taker of Emmylou and June. I ran off to the pet store and got them some dry food, a water bowl, and some flea collars. My plan was to win them over so that I could capture them, take them to be spayed and vaccinated, and then place them back into their yard to live out their days knowing they have a backup-plan-family if the stray life gets too tiring. I asked Brett about this and he agreed.

"You can certainly take them to be fixed, but don't feed them. They'll strat to rely on you."

"I want them to rely on me."

"No. That would mean we have cats. We're not having cats."

"But Bubba...."

So I started sneaking around, tossing kibble around and a refilling the water bowl when Brett wasn't looking. Nevermind what he wants, these kittens needed help. (They really did- they both had respiratory infections.) I've wanted a cat for a while now, but as long as we were living on the busy road, I wasn't going to risk it. 

So this whole kitten thing seemed like it was all a part of God's plan. 

Emmylou, the orange one, is quite curious and playful. She'd hang out in the house with all the noisy construction and mess and confusion. Dad would carry her around with him because he was worried someone would accidentally squish her.

June is much more sensible and keeps her distance unless you have snacks. 

All was going well in my kitty kingdom. 

Then Dad delivered the news, "Your neighbors on the other side caught Emmylou and took her to the pet shelter."

"What about June?"

"They said she wouldn't let them close enough."

I went right over to the pet shelter to find Emmylou. I called Brett on the way. 

"Well you have to go adopt her!" he said.

"I know!"

"But we're not having a litterbox, ok?"

"Bubbs, she won't even be a house cat."

No one at the shelter knew anything about her. She wasn't in quarantine. She wasn't in the clinic. She certainly wouldn't be on the adoption floor at that age. "Describe it again," they asked me.

"Orange, 5-6 weeks old, lots of gross goop dried around the eyes."

"Hmm..."

Finally they sent me away by giving me the intake manager's email address. "If anyone knows, she will." And she did. 

"Oh yeah, I remember him. We named him Sailor. He's in foster care until we can get him neutered."

I was grateful and had lots of questions. The short of it though, is that they didn't care that he was "my" cat. "Sorry, we can't hold him for you. Everyone should get a fair chance at him. When he comes up for adoption you'll see his picture on our website."

I got all huffy and puffy and checked the darn website everyday for two and a half weeks. Meanwhile, no had seen June since the abduction. We don't know if they ever caught her or if she is just hiding. Surely she'll show up soon or maybe Emmylou Sailor will be able to lure her out when the time comes. Despite my efforts, I haven't been able to meet those neighbors. We think the house is an Air BnB because the same cars and people are never there. Dad talked to someone who called themself a renter, but then they were gone after the weekend. Did an Air Bnb person take June?

Finally the day came. I marched over to the pet shelter, filled out some paperwork, paid $75, and walked out of there with my fateful friend Ferguson.

Joke was on Brett because they told me, as I was leaving the shelter, that he can't go outside for two weeks while his stitches heal. I had planned to drop him back in his yard. Oopsies, we need a litterbox. Brett didn't like it but since it was an honest surprise, he let it slide. 

But now we've had time to fall in love with Ferguson and I won't let Brett plop him back into our new yard (his old yard) until we're there to make sure he's safe and nourished.

"Oh come on Lue!" Brett whined, shortly before wallowing around the floor with Ferguson and his new toys.

Brett calls him "Bushes" because that's where we first found him. So he became "Ferguson Bushes" for a while before we decided "Bushes Ferguson" had a nice ring. Then Brett called him "Bushes Alexander Ferguson" and I added a "Reynolds" in there so that his initials/acronym could be "BARF." I was just kidding around but now Brett actually calls him Barf.

Mostly I call him Fergus.

I can't say whether or not Ferguson remembered me when I came to get him but he strutted right out of his cat box and into my wiggling fingers with ease. Despite arriving at our house at its most chaotic, Fergus is consistently at ease and is always purring. He likes to be pet and he loves to play but I haven't been able to get him to sit on me which is what I really want out of all animals everywhere. Up there in that photo, after a week in the family, he finally laid down next to me and gave himself a bath. It made my whole day.

As for June, she still MIA. Dad got a lead on the neighbor - the business card of the person we think turned Ferguson over to the Feds. I just need to give her a call. 

I really hope I can put the family back together again.