We've been adopted by a cat.

I don't know why I went home from flute choir a different way on Thursday. I always go the same way. I chose, at the last minute to go past my turn and take the other road back. Around a sharp curve, I almost hit a tiny black and white thing in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes and pulled over. There, a wee cat looked up at me. A kitten. I figured I'd try to see if I could approach her, see if she was wearing a collar and license so I could bring her back to her house. I knew full-well that she'd probably just run off as soon as I came within 10 feet of her, but I had to try. I called to her, and she'd stop, and then keep walking. So I walked faster to catch up to her. She let me. Then she stopped and let me pick her up. She immediately cuddled into me and started purring.

No collar. No license.

Lots of fleas. And she'd obviously been outside for quite some time. However, a feral cat, she was not. I called Mr. Zigkvetch. He was less than thrilled, which I expected. I explained (and at the time was 100% convinced) that I'd give her to the shelter first thing in the morning. I brought her in and tried to clean her up a bit, and then we played a little- she was so affectionate and just the sweetest little thing. She mowed through a can of tuna, and I ran off to the convenience store for some real food and a little bit of litter. (Keep in mind that I completely intended to give the remainder of the litter and food to either the shelter, or the owner, who I was sure I would find.) So, we set her up in the bathroom with some comfy bedding, food, water, and litter.

Also? From the minute I picked her up, I inexplicably began calling her "Munchie." I have no idea where this came from. It was 9:30 at night and I was hungry, so I suppose that could be it.

By morning's light and a discussion with the most awesome animal control/animal shelter officer ever, it was obvious from her condition and the shelter's lack of lost pet reports that she'd been outside, wandering for quite some time, and was indeed a stray- someone most likely dumped her. She'd also been pregnant a month or two prior and the kittens would've already become independent (I've looked just to make sure, but to no avail), and her milk has long since dried up. So she wasn't as young a kitten as I'd thought, but still young.

The shelter officer cut me a deal. I won't go into the details, but it basically ended up that he offered to pay for the kitty's exam, tests, and shots through the local animal hospital, if I would consider keeping her. He was also quite taken by both her sweet, purring disposition, and her horrible fleas. (Yes, we've vaccuumed and sprayed and done everything to hopefully not have a flea problem ourselves- knock on wood, we're ok so far). Angel that he is, he applied the freaking MIRACLE POTION Frontline, and gave me the rest of the box (2 more months worth) and arranged the vet appointment for 3:45 that afternoon.

Ok, so let's just say Frontline really, REALLY works well. It was disgusting, but there are no live fleas within probably a 5-mile radius at this point. Oy vey, it really was icky, and the worst part was when I had to take her to the vet. It didn't help that the vet was a complete and utter moron and JERKASS. Seriously, I'd like to go back there and bitchslap him if I could. I will never go back there again, and thankfully, won't have to because I'll be taking Munchie to my old cat hospital with the kind and knowledgable people. Anyway, they refused to clean her up because the Frontline had been applied only 8 hours prior. Even though the box says all over it that, as long as the stuff is dry, it's ok to wash the pet. I pleaded and one of the techs combed her a little, but that was it. Jerks. Jerkwads. JERKASSES.

But, it was free. And she's ok. All the tests came back negative. She's fine. And I gave her a bath yesterday. I'm so proud of the both of us. She was a champ, and I think I did a really good job. She's all soft and shiny and pretty now. And miraculously, she started acting much more like a cat once she was clean- playful and even more loving. I think she was just feeling miserable, poor thing.

So at this point, we have a new cat. Which is a great thing (you can't imagine how comforting she is for me), but this isn't a great time, and it's really a little scary. Don't get me wrong- she's the sweetest little thing, loves cuddling, is beautiful and funny and both Mr. Zigkvetch and I are smitten with her. But, my beautiful cat Persephone died at 15 years old in March. She was a 4 year survivor of cancer, that we decided to treat (ok I demanded we treat), and it cost a ton of money. Now, the cancer she has was caused by the way vaccinations used to be made, and where they were given. They've since changed it, and kitties don't often get cancer.

But still. We are going through a rough spot as far as finances go (send your donations directly to our bank account- I'll have the "Save the Zigkvetches" site up in no time). And while kitties are relatively inexpensive as far as pets go, that goes right out the window if something horrible comes up (G-d forbid, knock wood, etc.). I'm looking into pet insurance, although I remember my vet saying a few years ago that it's better to just set up a savings account and put in money yourself. Which we'll have to do. We're already starting to re-budget. This, on top of us trying to replenish our ravaged savings account (it's been a rough year $-wise) and of course, our plans for the future.

We've never been big gamblers, but it just seems like she belongs with us, and has been so loving and adorable, we're going to give it a chance. Here goes nothin'.

Miss Munchie:



And here's my sweet Persy, just because: