Almost 8 years ago (!) – back in March of 2006, before Paul and I got married, we really wanted a cat.  OK, I really wanted a cat.  Paul was kind enough to play along.  We were on the lookout for an orange tabby, because obviously they are the cutest.  But because they’re the cutest, they are also hard to find.  The only ones we saw at the shelters were already 10+ years old or really sick.

One Saturday, we found ourselves at a PetCo adoption fair and Paul spotted a 10-month old brown and white cat with bright blue eyes.  He was quite striking, actually.  We held him and pet him and heard that he was litter trained, and we were sold.  They told us we’d need to fill out a bunch of paperwork and then arrange for the foster mom to come by our house to inspect that it was acceptable for this stray cat who was found in the wheel well of a truck.  You’d think any home would be an improvement, but these cats have pretty high standards I guess.  They were royalty at one time you know.  I joked that it was harder to adopt a cat than to have a baby!  I wasn’t far off.

We picked up some cat necessities and I grabbed a Sprite because I could feel a migraine coming on and it was making me a bit nauseous.  As we headed home to clean up the place and make it presentable for our new addition, I really started feeling sick.  I was definitely going to barf.  I rifled around the back seat, looking for a bag and grabbed the plastic cover off the new litter box.  “I hope it doesn’t have any holes!” I said.  Yaaack.

It had holes.  In fact, it didn’t have a bottom.  So  I basically threw up on my own lap.  Sigh.

But I did feel quite a bit better, so I thought we should get some food.  Cheeseburgers obviously, because isn’t that what we all crave right after we barf?  Paul grabbed those, but I couldn’t eat after all.  I felt sick again.  So I left the task of cleaning to Paul as I popped some Tylenol and hid under my covers, trying to make it as dark and quiet as possible.

When I woke up a couple hours later, I could hear Paul saying goodbye to the foster mom, Rose.  They’d already done the interview and she’d seen the house and we now had a cat!  I couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing for 2 hours though.

Paul walked into the room with a look of disdain on his face.  What happened? Well apparently, he was locked in the office with Rose this whole time.  She talked about how much she loved our condo and showed him how to take care of a cat.  He demonstrated for me with a nasty stuffed animal that when you want to set the cat down, you need to do it ever so gently, so the cat feels loved and not unwanted.

OK.  Where did you get that nasty stuffed animal anyway?  Rose left a few of the cat’s toys here so he would feel at home.  These things were freakin disgusting.  I mean ratty, peed on, chewed, gross toys.

OK.  We’re not keeping those.  Did she leave anything else?  Um, yes – a ratty, peed on, chewed, disgusting towel.  She said if we wanted the cat to sit on our lap, we could use the towel to prompt him.  It was a familiar item, so we can put the towel on (gag!), drape it over our chest (double gag!), and the cat might feel more comfortable sitting with us.

OK.  Ew.  Did you try putting it on? Yes.  Rose made me.

And two days later, Paul got an eye infection.

Welcome to the family, cat.  We named him Gadoo, because that’s “cat” in Armenian.  Creativity at it’s finest.