Lizzy's Christmas

Since Christmas is a time for presents, I thought my cat might like a little something under the tree (figuratively, of course, since Lizzy bites, scratches, and in general destroys anything actually under the tree). At first I thought maybe she would like new toys: a ball, a mouse, some string… However, after a thorough cleaning of my apartment, I discovered many of Lizzy’s old toys hiding out under the sofa and beneath the bookshelves and so forth. Lizzy eyed the toys with newfound joy in her little green eyes, as if she had never before played with them. As any good parent knows, there is no need to waste good money on new toys when old ones will suffice.

I moved onto Christmas present idea number two: catnip. What better way to say “Merry Christmas” than with a little kitty crack. One hit and Lizzy would mellow out and forget about her ongoing war with the Christmas tree. She would hang out on the couch and start using words like “dude,” and “awesome,” while insisting the floor is moving and admiring the “pretty lights” dancing in front of her eyes. Catnip would bring peace on earth and good will for men (or, at least, for woman. Specifically, me.) Alas, the catnip was nixed when I learned that the stuff may not affect cats less than a year old. Oh well. Next year, perhaps.

What to do now? Christmas was fast approaching and I was out of ideas. I chatted with Lizzy, but she was not helping at all. She insisted she didn’t want anything, but I knew better. She ALWAYS wants something. Just as I was about the throw my hands up in despair, the perfect idea presented itself. A co-worker was looking to find a good home for her 8 month old neutered male cat, Rufus, a Pixie Bobtail who had the unwitting talent of making his owner’s allergic husband sick. The price was right (free) and so was the situation (fixed, shots current, gets along with other animals). Hmm…What better way to celebrate the holidays with my property-destroying, rambunctious cat than by getting a SECOND potentially property-destroying rambunctious cat! I am a genius!

Before you question my sanity (as indeed, I have done in the last 24 hours), I must explain the conclusion I finally came to. Cats are like tattoos. The first one is a huge commitment. You fret about the permanence of it all, attempting to imagine said tattoo after 60 years of wrinkles and sagging skin. After perfecting the speech you will one day give to your future children about why mommy has a sun on her ankle, you finally take the leap and get inked. Once you are marked for life, it’s all downhill from there. The decision for a second tattoo is made in the tattoo parlor as you wait for your younger sister to get her belly-button pierced. Forty-five minutes later, you have a pair of permanent commitments. No big deal. They can keep each other company.

At this point, I should say that like tattoos, cats do have their limits. More than two tattoos can carry the implication of white trash. More than two cats… Well, you may as well hang a sign over your door reading “Beware of the Cat Lady. She was once normal, but her house now smells of tuna and dirty litter.” As no one I know personally is all that fond of white trash cat ladies whose houses smell of tuna and dirty litter, I think two tattoos and two cats will be my personal limit.

So, what does Lizzy think about her Christmas present? I talked it over with her last night and explained that she will soon have a brother. I made sure she knows that mommy has enough love for everyone. Lizzy is wary, but I do believe she is willing to give it a try. We shall see, when I bring Rufus home with me tonight. Until then, this story is…

To Be Continued…