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“Hi. I’m here to look at the cats. Maybe looking to adopt,” I say, more unsure than I wish I had.
What if they question my dedication and deny my application or something.
Fuck. Did I just screw this all up?
“Absolutely. So, I’ll have you just check in here on this clipboard.” She taps the one on the counter in front of me, and I grab a pen, filling it out as she continues talking. “The cat enclosures are down the hall to your left. There will be staff and volunteers there. Feel free to speak to them and ask any questions or ask to meet any of the kitties.”
My palms start sweating, and I have no idea why I’m so nervous right now. “Perfect. Thanks.”
“You are welcome,” she says, smiling, and returns to working on the computer.
Down the hallway, to the left—I follow her instructions and find what I’m looking for almost immediately. I slide one of the glass doors and step into a wide-open room that has full cages lining one of the walls. A few kittens are running around the room, chasing someone wearing a shirt that says Volunteer. I have a seat in the chair next to the door, wanting to observe first. The three kittens chase after the feather wand she is waving around, and it’s so innocent and gentle. I laugh along with the giggles bubbling out of the volunteer.
“Are you looking to adopt?” she asks me, continuing to lead the kittens around the large area.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“These little guys are great if you’re looking for a kitten. But don’t be afraid to walk up to the cages, and if you want me to take any of them out, I certainly can. I’ll just pop these guys back in their room,” she informs me.
I follow her lead, walking over to the cages, taking in each one.
A lot of them aren’t kittens, and it makes me sad. I bet these guys have to wait a lot longer to find a home than the three furballs at my feet. I know they won’t struggle to find a forever home, so maybe I’ll see if I connect with any of the older ones.
A fluffy all-white one purrs against the bars in front of me. I read the card on her kennel. Snowball. Two years. Loves cats, dogs, and kids. She’s sweet, and she clearly likes to be pet. I don’t think she’ll struggle to find the right adopter. I don’t know at what point my goal became finding one that might not be as adoptable, but here we are. I think I’d feel guilty if I chose a kitten or something, knowing that an older one that just needs a second chance is stuck here without a home.
“Are you looking for a specific sex or characteristic?” the volunteer asks me.
“Umm, I don’t think so. Are there any that have been here longer than others? Or ones that have been overlooked a lot?” I question as I pet Snowball’s bridge of her nose through the cage.
Silence lingers for a moment. I turn and see the volunteer’s face etched with shock.
“I’m just used to being asked about kittens. It caught me off guard, sorry. Yes, so, thankfully, our cats and kittens don’t stay with us much longer than, like, six months. But we do have this one guy. He has his own private room. The rooms are usually used for special cases—like medical cases, nursing cats with kittens, litters of kittens, and stuff like that. When this little guy came in, he was recovering from an injury so we housed him over here; he kind of staked his claim, and we let him.”
She guides me over to one of the closed doors with a large window, and I peer inside. A gray fluff ball is curled up in a cat tree, fast asleep.
“He can be a bit timid, and it takes him some time to build trust with strangers, which is why he’s been here for so long. It might take days or even weeks for him to come around to you. But when he does, he is the sweetest and cuddliest boy.”
He must hear us talking about him as he stirs and begins yawning.
“His name is Harry, but he doesn’t really know it or answer to it. He just began learning it, but you could call him whatever you’d like really, and he’d adapt with time.”
I’m wondering what injury he was healing from when he came in. The question lingering on the tip of my tongue is answered before I can even ask it. As he stands up, I see his front left leg is completely gone.
He looks up at me, and the moment he does, I just know he has to come home with me. I can’t explain it; it just feels right.
And I know exactly what I’m naming him.
Harry sounds an awful lot like a hockey term I love.
Let’s go home, Hatty.
7
Reed
“You got a cat?” JD asks with shock as if it’s the craziest thing imaginable.
Pulling out my phone, I open my Photos app and quickly locate one of the hundreds of photos of Hatty that I’ve taken in the two days I’ve had him.
