10.30.13

Rather an awful day, all the way around, wasn't it? So sorry to hear about my friend Michael Palmer's passing. He was a super cool, super sweet guy, who always had a smile on his face and a kind word for everyone. And he writes some amazingly cool thrillers. In times like these, all we can do is send the family love, and buy extra copies of the books. We've lost too many friends this year, that's for sure.  I'm just heartbroken for everyone -- he touched a lot of lives. We're sending prayers to the Palmers tonight.

We didn't have any luck with the feline situation, either. That is to say, the universe threw a loop, as the universe is wont to do. I'm having a terrible time with this decision anyway -- I know, I know, it's a cat. But cats are familiars, and the choice is an important one. 

We found a kitten last night we fell in love with -- 5 weeks, rescued from a dumpster. Absolutely precious little girl. So while she spent the night getting her shots, we picked out a name, resurrected some of Thrillercat's toys and bed that I haven't had the heart to get rid of, realized they were too old and this kitten needed new stuff. I spent an hour shredding newspaper for the litter box, then went this morning and bought a bed, sisal mat, cage (kitten is too small to be allowed to roam a room just yet), the cutest pink dishes, the works.

We even settled on a name. 

I didn't sleep at all last night, worrying, wondering, hoping.  I had the feeling something was off, and I couldn't figure out what it was. Fear, my subconscious said. Just fear.

We showed up to bring her home, and when I walked in I knew something was wrong. And then they told me, she is actually a he. They messed up. As a matter of fact, the entire litter are boys.

Which shouldn't be a big deal, but I've had my heart set on a little girl. Enough so that after an hour of deliberation, we left, sans kitten. 

And I've felt horrible all day.  It really shouldn't matter, right? I love all the boys in my life. I've just never had a boy cat, outside of a Tomcat named Morris who came around when I was little. He was all white, and appeared on our back deck the day Morris the cat, of TV fame, died. I told my mom, awe in my voice, he was Morris, reconstituted.

Yeah.

So it's time to sleep on it, and hug on my hubby, and perhaps the universe will tell me what to do. 

Sweet dreams.