Once upon a time, we had four cats. Scootch and Boo-boo were the first — brothers from the same litter— Tinkerbelle was next, then Luna, short for Lunatic.
Luna was found abandoned at my husband's work. We got her back up to health and adopted her out, as her energy didn't fit the current cat dynamic. Boo-boo was ten when he passed away in 2019, and when we moved to the boonies in October 2021, we were left with two cats: Tinkerbelle, who was about 10 at the time, and Scootch, who was about 13. Then Tinkerbelle went over the Rainbow Bridge to grumble and grouse to her heart's content. We adopted her from a shelter at 2.5 years old to be a girlfriend to Boo-boo, but they never liked each other; in fact, Tink didn't like anyone but my husband and me.
Scootch is now 17, and my husband talked about another pet, possibly a dog or another cat. However, with two budding businesses (a bakery for him, and an author for me), another pet was out of the question. We just don't have the time and energy needed for another pet, and we both agreed that once Scootch was done living a life of pettings and catnaps in the country sunshine, there would be no other pets, unless someone came to visit with theirs.
I was at work when I got a text from my husband. When I went on break, I opened my messages and froze.
He sent a picture.
It was a kitten.
In his arms.
In. The. House.
For the record, I'm the one who usually caves, but my husband? Nope, not in a million years would he budge — unless circumstances warranted it.
I texted back, "What is that, and why is it in the house?"
Before he could text back, my daughter chimed in, "Ooh! Can we keep her?"
How did my daughter know she was a girl? Calicos are almost always girls.
Apparently, my husband made this a group text. I was already outnumbered.
"What's this 'we' stuff?" I replied. "You just moved out and don't live here anymore. You don't get a say in this." I half-joked.
She sent back crying emojis, like that would change my mind.
Then my husband chimed in.
Kitty backstory: She was brought by a neighbor's relative to live with our neighbor, since they had a farm, and they put her out with the other cats to be a farm cat. We don't think the other cats took to her because she came to my husband thin (not skinny) and ate cat food like there was no tomorrow.
When I got home, I asked the neighbor if this was her cat, and she said we could have her if we wanted her.
Well, the kitten didn't know how to hunt and was probably just a week or two off of being weaned.
She kept running back and forth across the road, which would get her killed. No sense of self-preservation at all, according to my husband.
She liked people and was a cuddle bug, but could play rough and still be gentle.
My daughter desperately wanted a calico with these qualities.
Dang, dang, dang.
I waited a week to see what would happen. And then, I named her. Meet Pipsqueak, Pips for short.
She will not be our cat. She will be my daughter's cat once she gets spayed and licensed as an emotional support animal, so Pips can live with her at the ranch where she now lives and works.
Why not keep her, you may ask? Because she's a chaos goblin who adores my sewing room (which has no door), and so far has wrecked three of my projects, and shed over everything else.
Scootch is also not thrilled with her energy level, especially when she tries to pounce on him every chance she gets. He's swatted her good a few times, but she won't leave him be. We have to put her in a separate room on occasion, which she is also turning into modern art with Spider-Man scratches all over the furniture.
And she chewed through my husband's earbud wires on his headset.
And this is what she does when I'm trying to read a book or text:
Yes, it's cute the first three times, but not when you're trying to read and relax, and someone keeps swatting at the pages and chew/suckle on your fingers. And if she falls asleep on you, it's never in a spot where you can do anything but be her living pillow.
She will be staying here until late October (we think), after she heals from getting spayed earlier that month. In the meantime, I'm packing up my fabric before she gets into anything else, and Scootch has learned that Pips is not allowed upstairs, so he asks us to let him up there when she gets to be too much for him.
Huh. He might have the right idea!
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