Too Much Cat Drama!
You know that moment when you think back and say, "ugh, I should've left right then"? I had one of those today. I can't say I'm upset by the final outcome, but I'm not too thrilled, either.
The short version of what's been happening with my cat situation:
- Lauren started scooting in April and they never could figure out what the problem was, so—as much as it tore me up to do so—I surrendered her. More details on her in a minute.
- I picked out a black kitten that same day who was sweeter than anything, but I had to return her for a behavioral problem. (I'll get to her in the next part as well.)
- Someone on reddit wanted to get rid of their adult cat, so I took her in without having met her. Huge mistake. She was so shy that she hid in the basement all day, never wanted to be touched (although she purred like crazy if you managed to corner her for some attention) and was intimidating my dad's cat (a different one—he's had problems, too) so badly that Jessie didn't want to go to the basement to use the bathroom. (I actually had to spring a sort of trap on her when we finally found someone to rehome her!)
- I've been looking for a different cat for the last three weeks, which led to today's drama.
I finally, mercifully, settled on a kitten.
I was a little concerned because she tried to hide as soon as I met her, but when I put her on my lap and offered to let her tuck her head under my arm, she seemed to like that. (Plus, it may have just been that she was scared of the dogs barking, as I seem to remember Ani tucking her head under my arm once at the vet after she'd had something uncomfortable done.) So I decided to give her a shot, knowing that I could always return her if it didn't work out. I said goodbye to her for the moment and sat down with one of the adoption staff—that's when the catnip hit the fan.
I didn't want to go a long patch without a photo, so here's a zonked out cat.
(By the way, I have no idea what this girl's name was—they don't wear tags for whatever reason—so I'll call her Nicole. And remember, this isn't verbatim.)
"You don't have a credit," Nicole announced. "We decided that what happened was normal kitten behavior and your dad wasn't offered an exchange or credit."
Sidebar: I realized as I wrote those words that they've effectively stolen $75 from me! (I had to stop working on this for a few minutes while I emailed my credit union about it.) They might be a charitable organization, but when the adoption fee is required, it's not a donation. (Even when I give donations, I don't go that high unless I'm getting something out of it, like at a silent auction.) I paid that fee with the assumption that I'd get something in return. No animal and no refund means theft on their part!
"If it's normal behavior, why was she adopted twice more before it finally stuck?"
Nicole proceeded to get around that question by looking up my dad and I in the system and accuse us of being bad pet parents. (Her words were something like, "We're getting concerned you can't take care of animals like you should." Maybe…I kind of interrupted when I started sobbing.)
Okay, stop the beat train right fucking there!
My dad has had cats for forty-two years. Until this seventeen-month streak of bad luck (which seems to be over, thankfully), the only way he got rid of cats was by burying them in the backyard. (I don't think I need to get more explicit than that.) A year and a half of sick cats makes him a bad pet parent?
I've had (or been around) cats my entire life. Lauren was my everything for a decade, until I could no afford to pay for an illness no one could figure out. Stopping at $400 over four months (and returning a couple due to bad behavior) makes me a bad pet parent? News to me!
I should've walked out when Nicole said there was no adoption credit. I had my chair pushed back, purse in hand—everything. But she was typing away on her computer, so my naivete said, "Maybe she's trying to figure something out for me." And I stayed.
Ultimately, I started sobbing and saying it wasn't our fault our cats got sick. I'm sure my voice was getting louder (I was upset…what do you expect?) when I said, "Do you really think I wanted to surrender my best friend of a decade? Do you think we actually wanted to surrender any of them?"
I don't remember where it all went, but when I finally left, I said, "I can't believe you! What a bitch! I'm never adopting here again!"
That was when I heard a voice behind me say, "We'd appreciate it if you never came back."
Wait. Hold on another fucking second. Did you just ban me for calling one of your staffers a bitch?
No, sorry. That calls for a "please watch your language", not banning me.
I suppose their reasoning behind banning me was that I was "causing a scene".
Guess what? I have depression and anxiety/panic disorder. Crying is what I do! Yes, I was wrong in using profanity; but wouldn't you get upset if you were just told that a few sick cats over seventy-four years of combined animal love makes you a bad pet parent? (They're actually lucky I wasn't yelling at them, but I've been told I have such a loud voice that people think I'm yelling when I'm not. Believe me, you'd know if I'm yelling—my voice not only gets a little higher, but I often use the big "what the hell do you expect me to do?!" hand gestures.)
(continued on page two)