The One Where ChiefScott Comes To Live With Three Cats

About a year ago, I’m washing breakfast dishes, and I hear my wife at the doorway to the kitchen say, “We want to adopt another cat.” Drying my hands and turning, I see my wife and (then) 13-year-old son standing side-by-side awaiting the inevitable confrontation.
“No. You guys have two cats. We can’t afford another. Absolutely no more cats. Period. The end. I’ll not allow us to become that ‘crazy cat family down the block.’ Hon, we’ve discussed this. No, and that’s my final answer,” I say.
Attempting to avoid the inevitable pleading, I try to push past them into the dining room so I can proceed to the basement to cower in a dark corner. I don’t want to deal with this. I just wanna finish my chores and watch footbal. But they stand their ground and I’m forced to back into the kitchen and deal with the request.

“Sweetie,” the wife begins, “If Kyle and I volunteer 3 hours at the SPCA this morning, they’ll allow us to pick out and adopt a cat… for free.”
“Abso-tute-ly no.  You’re not going to change my mind on this.  I don't care if they're PAYING you to take them, you're not getting another cat,” I put my foot down.
Chiming in all cherubic-like, my son joins the fray: “Why not, Dad?”

So, it’s two on one is it?  Mom taking the lead, son taking the wingman position, eh?  That’s how you’re going to play your hand?  OK. I’ve played this game before. Let the reasoning begin.  Here’s both barrels… right in your faces!
“Because you guys suck at picking out cats, that’s why!  You have two already and you’ve failed miserably.  One cat thinks it’s a dog and the other is retarded!”

My logic must surely impress them so much so that they’ll probably back down now.

“OK,” the wife says, “How ‘bout you come with us and pick out the cat?”
“No!  You’re not getting a third cat, so forget about it.  I’m not going to some shelter to volunteer three hours of my life so you can work on me there, either!  Nice try!  No cat.  Period,” I say thinking I can’t state my case any clearer.

“But dear,” she tries, “Kyle really wants another cat.”
“I want to be left alone about another cat, and *that’s* apparently not gonna happen today either!”
They exchange a glance.  Subtle, yes.  But I caught it.  Something’s up.  They’ve got a plan…

“But if you had to pick a cat, what kind would you pick?,” my son offers.

Oh, ho.  I see where they’re going.  I’m three moves ahead of ‘em.  A little concession now and I’m done for…

“You’re not getting another cat.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I don’t want another one, and you stink at picking cats!”
“We can pick out a good cat,” my wife tries.
“No you can’t!  You picked two – and they look exactly alike!  You can’t even tell the difference!”  The 'dog' and 'retard' are both overweight calicos.
My son goes for the overhead smash to the back of the court -- “So if we pick a different color cat, can we adopt one?” 
“No.  Period.”  (A nice backhanded volley, thinks I.)

“But hon,” my wife continues to wheedle, “what if we find a nice black and white…”
“No,” I head them off at the pass, “that’s not the only reason you can’t pick cats!  You wanna adopt a cat who’s been around for two or three years, right?”
“Ye-yeah,” she says, now tentative.  She’s not sure where I’m going, so I drive home the point.
“So the cat would have all his personality and idiosyncrasies?  What make you think an adult cat would get along with the two we already have?  See, you suck at this!  You should have said, ‘We’d get a kitten so he could learn to get along with the cats we have already!’  If you pick a kitten, you also get the whole cat experience, from kitten to adult!  Do you see how bad you are at this, Sweetie?!!!”

“So if we find a black and white kitten, we can adopt it?” my son chirps in.

I’d momentarily overlooked the squirt.  He’s bringin’ his A game.  I’m shutting this thing down now.
“NO!  NO CAT!”
“Why not?,” continues junior.
“Tell me this,” redirecting the conversation back to the wife and attempting to end this quickly as football will begin in a half hour, “male or female?”
There’s that glance between them again.  I see that they’re trying to work up a head of steam.  Trying to figure out where I'm going...
“A girl,” my wife tries.
“WRONG-O, BABY!  You got two males already!  Whaddaya wanna do?  Upset the whole balance of things?  The correct answer was male!  Ha Ha, see how you suck at this?!”  My logic was flawless!!

“So if we find a boy, black and white kitten, we can adopt him?”

Whoa!  Hold on.  How in the fuck did we get back here?!  The kid’s throwing down!  He’s *running* the show and my *wife’s* giving back up!!  I’m playing this all wrong I realize, hopefully not to late.  It’s time to change my tactics…
“OK, Kyle.  Question for you.  Is this supposed black and white kitten neutered?”
There’s that glance again… but not so self-assured this time!  They’ve tipped their hand too early!!  I got ‘em up against the wall…

“Yes,” he says so assuredly thinking I must side with that answer.

“That’s three frickin’ strikes, and YOU ARE OUTA HERE!,” I scream.  “You can’t neuter a cat that young!  The correct answer was no… but if you adopt him, you get the SPCA to neuter him when he’s old enough!  You guys don’t know who you’re dealing with!”

OK.  They’re set up for the coup de grace.  Come on, boy… send it to papa... give it to me… give it to me…

“So if they’ll neuter him, we can adopt a kitten?,” my wife tries.

Gotcha.  Game, set and match.  They’re never gonna make this happen now!  I can set the parameters so tight, the chances of them walking into the house with a cat are nil, and I get ‘em out of my hair before the game begins! 

“I tell you what I’m going to do,” I start.  “If you go to the SPCA today and volunteer three hours to earn the right to adopt a **FREE** cat, **AND** you can find one that acts like a cat, **AND** they have one that’s black and white, **AND** it’s a kitten, **AND** it’s male, **AND** they’ll neuter it for free when it’s old enough... you can adopt a cat.  The same old caveats apply, too.  I don’t feed it, I don’t clean its box.  Deal?”

The glance again.
“Deal,” my son says.
Too easy.  Gotta get a last shot in…
“But I get to name it,” I finalize.
“OK,” they assent in unison. 
“But no Grateful Dead references,” my son adds.

Done deal.  Cool, I think.  Got away with that one by the skin of my teeth.  They headed out and I kicked back to enjoy an afternoon of wife and son-free football promptly forgetting all about the issue.
That is until 6 p.m. 
That’s when the back door banged open.
And I’m staring at a black and white fur-ball on the coffee table.  

**Fast-forward one week.**

“Sweetie,” my wife begins.  “Do you consider Rider to be a member of the family now?”
Rider was the name we’d settled on after Stagger Lee, Jerry, Bob, Cassidy and other even more vague Dead-referenced names had been rejected by my son. (Little do they know to this day he’s named for the Dead cover tune “I Know You, Rider!”)
“Yeah. Sure.”
“You won’t make Kyle take him back?”
She'd just turned the tables again and and I didn't realisse it... again… very effective.
“No.  I won’t.  What’s up?”
“You’d better sit down…”

She proceeded to tell me what really happened that day.
She tells me that they didn’t have any kittens at the SPCA they volunteered at.  They'd shipped all the kittens up north to a facility which specializes in young cats – a clearing house for the state.  So she got a note from this SPCA, and DROVE 35 FREAKIN’ MILES to another SPCA to check out the kittens!  Apparently, they had no black and white kittens there.  No, that’d be to f-ing easy.  But they had kittens that they sent out in a van that morning to a Petsmart in the area!  So my darling wife and son, took their little note and drove another 25 FREAKIN’ MILES BURNING GAS AT OVER $2 DOLLARS A GALLON to the Petsmart where they found a black and white, male kitten to adopt.
“So you see, that’s how we adopted Rider last week,” she finished.
“And that’s everything…,” I led her on.
“Well, the Petsmart wouldn’t honor the note.  So we had to pay a $120 adoption fee.”
“WHAT?!!  YOU BOUGHT THE FUCKING CAT?!!!  FOR A HUNDRED AND FUCKING TWENTY DOLLARS?!!!!!”
“We didn’t buy him.  We adopted him.”
**“DID YOU GIVE THE FUCKING GUY $120?”**
“Yes.”
**“DID THE FUCKER GIVE YOU A CAT?”**
“Yes.”
“Then, my dear, ***YOU BOUGHT A FUCKING CAT!!!!"***

And that’s how I came to have three cats in my house.  And how I lost the last vestiges of my belief that I ran my home.

Gotta run.  I gotta pick up a 35 lb. bucket of litter on my way home...

I was under the impression that there were rules about cat threads. Something to do with pictures and such.

That’s a lot of dough for a cat. Hope you get your moneys worth.

Oh, and sorry to hear about you losing control of your abode. Probably never really had it anyway. :slight_smile:

Aw, who’s da sweet puddy tat wuver? Aw? Is it ChiefScott? Yes, it is! Yes, it is!

Pussy whipped, my boy, and more literally than usual. (And we love you for it.)

One Of Us…One Of Us…One Of Us…One Of Us…One Of Us…One Of Us…

:smiley:

I think we need to vote to change the ‘Member’ under ChiefScott’s name to ‘Crazy Cat Man’…

We now have 4 cats. Relatives tell us that officially puts us into “crazy cat lady” territory, even though I’m the only crazy cat lady in the house (everyone else is male, and mostly well-adjusted). It wasn’t my fault, really! We had a 21 year old cat, and a 10 year old who was depressed because the old lady cat couldn’t play with him anymore. I just wanted to adopt a friend for him, right? So, we went to Petsmart, and there were these 2 cats in a cage, and they’d been together since they were tiny kittens and you can’t separate them, right? Right? So we had to adopt them both. And buy 2 new litter boxes. And some new food dishes. And some cat beds. And toys.

Periodically, when we’re tired at night, and we still have to feed 4 cats, and change 5 litter boxes (long story), my husband glares at me, and says “You owe me big.” And then I point out to him that it was his idea to have kids–the same kids who were screaming and complaining about going to bed only an hour before. And then he just wanders off, mumbling to himself.

Maybe we are a crazy cat family . . .

Holy crap, three cats. Damn you getting over run over there :smiley:

And where are the dang pics? You are breaking cat thread rules.

We have nine and we did not pay for any of them :stuck_out_tongue:

I was unaware of the “Cat Pic” rule. I’ll see if I can get the little shits together tonight.

Grrr. Now I’ve gotta literally herd cats. This deal keeps getting better and better…

That reminds of a story about my Dad. When I was about 14 or so, the family dog passed away. My father had always said that dog would be the last one. My brother was already off at college, I would be going in the next couple years, and my Dad didn’t want a dog around after all the kids had gone. My mom and I didn’t agree, but my Dad was not the kind of guy you argued with unless it was really important. He was a big guy, very serious, and a firm believer in the ‘hard but fair’ school of thought. He could be a pain in the ass, but he was always fair (and annoyingly right about most stuff too.)

After about 2 weeks of being dogless, my Dad pulled me aside and said that while he didn’t want a dog, he thought that my mom was pretty sad, and it might be a good idea to maybe think about what kind of dog to get. I was pretty noncommittal about the whole thing. Later that day, he went to my Mom and mentioned how he’d had a long talk with me, and that I told him that I really wanted a dog, and maybe we should look into getting a puppy ‘for the kid.’ Long story short, we had a new puppy by the end of the week, and my mom and I figured out what my Dad had done about a month later.

We never let me Dad know that we figured him out. Now I kind of wish we had. My Dad really liked that dog that he didn’t want.

This means you now need a Bordie Collie. It will herd the cats for you and possibly eat the cat poo as well leaving less to scoop.

ChiefScott!?!? :eek:

HI!

When I was in elementary school, my little brother brought home a young white rat for a weekend. The rat was part of a nutrition “experiment” where one rat was fed good food, and one fed junk food, and we saw which was healthier at the end of a month. Little brother suggested that we offer to keep the rat. Mom thought it was cuter than she expected, Dad said if we got the rat, he’d then want a cat to get rid of the rat, and a dog to get rid of the cat. (He’d keep the dog. He likes dogs). We didn’t keep the rat.

Fast forward a few years, we got a cat. It was amazing how fond of the cat Dad became. The cat liked to sit on Dad’s lap for a while in the evenings. And then go sleep on the couch. The rest of us didn’t sit still enough to keep the cat happy.

There ain’t no such thing as a free critter.

About this time last year, there was a scraggly, pathetic little black mutt wandering around our neighborhood. One evening, my husband stopped to pet it, then came in and told me how dirty it was and he could feel its ribs and everything. We already had a dog and a cat. But I knew it was a losing battle, especially as it got colder outside.

The mutt was nowhere to be seen for a week or so, then one evening, my sweetie came in with the raggedy pooch in hand.

That free stray ended up costing over $700 for vet bills (removal of tumors, getting spayed, shots) and grooming. She’s going blind and deaf, and she hates the cat and humps the big dog. And she follows me around with such devotion and adoration, the little hairbag…

snicker

Welcome to my world…where cats rule the planet.

Congrats and/or condolences as the mood strikes, but…

You’ve got two MALE calicos? If so, congratulate your family on finding not one, but two Klinefelter’s Syndrome critters - not a common thing. I’ve seen male calicos before, but never two at the same time.

Not that that makes them valuable or anything ( contrary to some popular myth ), but it is decent cocktail conversation fodder for the oddity of it.

Both my sister and I wanted cats, so that’s how we got the first one (I begged for a year!) and the next 3 (only 2 at a time, though). As for dogs…

One Christmas, when my sister was about 12 my aunt gave my cousin a dog. My cousin and sister are the same age and close friends, but there was often a lot of jealousy too, just because. Well, my sister threw one of the biggest fits of her life. Screaming and yelling and “It’s not fair! I wanted a dog more than she did!” She cried for 2 days while simultaneously trying to convince my dad to give in to her demands (my mom would have none of it!) My dad’s answer?

“We can’t get a dog - the yard isn’t fenced in, and I don’t believe in tying a dog up all day outside is ok. Dogs need somewhere to run free.”

So he went out and got the yard fenced in. Then we got that dog!

My sister is now off at university, where she has a dog and a cat (a different dog, actually - the first one died young of inexplicable causes), and she’s studying to be a vet. At the vet school, they have beagles - I’m not 100% clear why, but they are used somehow as learning tools by the students. When they are 5 years old, they are adopted out, for free (and they are already spayed/neutered/vaccinated/afraid of vets for you!)

For the past month, my sister has been trying to get my parents to adopt “Josh” and “Florine”. My mom is beginning to buckle… my dad still refuses.

I expect them to have at least one beagle by next summer :smiley:

Wow, I didn’t even catch that. It is really, really strange. I wants to see pics :slight_smile:

ChiefScott are you sure they are really “calicos”?

I have one fat alpha calico. She acts like a dog and actually gets along with our one dog more than the other cats or people for that matter.

I am surprised if they really are calicos that you stated one was dumb. Most of the calicos or torties I have known are to smart for even their own good which is an interesting mix with their superior personailities.

Well, they’re orange striped things… Like small, fat, striped tigers, I guess. I thought cats that looked like that were called Calicos.
I’m not a “cat guy” in any sense of the word, so they’re probably not really Calicos if Calicos are rare. Plus they were “rescues,” if that means anything to you.
And I never said one was dumb. I said one was retarded. My wife says he was probably abused.