Sunday, December 5, 2010

His Name is Skylar

We went to the local animal shelters open house. We were really involved when my sister and I were little and then we went to university, it’s a hard place to be. The truth about a lot of things is in your face.

Mama Duncan started to tear up asking that the donation be put in puppies name and I decided I wanted to take home one of the rats in the reception area, and started to cry. Don’t worry, BK was ready with a list of ways to get a pet rat into a “pet free” apartment complex.

We went to the kitties first and they loved my set of keys, and I talked to all of them of course, told them all they were beautiful, found one with the same attitude of the real Frosty, quiet calculating, and after a bit she warmed up and played with the keys too. There was a pair of kittens black and black and white, bobbed tails double paws, I had to fight to get the keys back, I was sure they were going to figure out how to use the whistle.

We moved on to the dogs and the more experienced shelter people were there ready with the stories. I’ll spare you, except for Skylar. He was a 2 year old golden lab, sitting in the corner, trying to figure out why everyone was feeding him doggie cookies.

“This is Skylar, he came in this morning, his family moved and didn’t take him with them.”

I looked at Skylar and said “So you don’t understand…” Well I tried to say understand, but I instead I looked at Mama Duncan and said “Now that makes me cry.”

I left ready to ask the mean landlord if a rat was acceptable, but he chewed me out for spilling dry laundry soap on the laundry room floor. He left a note and waited until he heard me come back downstairs to chew me out personally.

I’m 30 cough years old and stepping out of an all encompassing fight to get well. I’m single and not sure what to do with all this emotion. There’s a real part of me that’s ready for the responsibility and I need to have something in my life I can nurture and take care of. And two kitties are much more practical than a baby.

I saw a picture on a blog of a writer, writing at her coffee table, two cats on her lap and one on the floor beside her. I thought; that’s what I want. #1 talks about her cats sitting at her face waiting for her to wake up and feed them. I want that. I remember coming home and Roxie jumping up on the table so she could see me better. “Kitty Kisses” I’d say, and she’d bow her head forward and I would kiss the top of her head. I want that.

So the search may be on for a little apartment that allows cats. I may be ready.

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