When it comes to an impulse purchase from the super market I doubt that anyone else can say that theirs was a cat. Pulling out of Wal-Marts parking lot from a bit of grocery shopping-with full knowledge that we currently owned a cat-our mother cried, “Oh my God someone’s selling cats outside the store!”
This was an odd reaction for her since it usually took coercing on my sister and I’s part when it came to getting a pet. The fact that this golden opportunity was thrust at us was to good to miss. So my sister and I begged.
“No, we have a cat,” our father stated, “we don’t need another one.”
“But this one’s black and white!” The fact that our mother thought the kittens appearance would matter made no sense at all, but no one questioned her reasoning.
“Look! His little head is poking out of the box!”
Are you gonna feed it?” our father asked.
“Yes!” my sister and I chimed.
“Are you gonna clean up after it?”
“Yes!” (it’s been fourteen years since then and litter box scooping has become my soul responsibility.)
“Alright.” He parked the car at the nearest parking space and went out to retrieve our new kitten.
Sylvester was greeted by Josh in the typical hostility affiliated with an already dominant cat. Besides the customary hisses and growls Josh left him alone with the clear understanding that we were his people. That, however, didn’t stop Sylvester from latching onto me.
It was irritating at first, having a kitten barrel into your room at night and swiping his claws at your nose. I repeatedly took the little bugger to my mother stating, “I believe this is yours.” After a few nights I gave in and let him stay.
Now, fourteen years later he is my shadow.