Let me start this piece with a disclaimer. All the events are true, and some names have been changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent, although there is no one involved who is truly guilty.
When I think back on this event, I do so because of the adopt-a-pet drives I see advertised in news programs and in commercials. Spring seems to be a time when animal births are plentiful, and this was a beautiful spring day. In a parking lot there was a vehicle that belonged to the Humane Society where you could adopt puppies or kittens.
My mother insisted that we stop and look at the animals. I knew that no matter what we looked at (pup or kit) there would be fees involved, and money would exchange hands before any adoption would take place. I gave a silent prayer of thanks that my mother didn’t have her purse…
I looked at the puppies, but they were more interested in napping in the shade of their kennels or checking out the kittens in the next cage, who on the other hand, were frolicking and full of playful energy. While I was focused on the pups, my mother looked adoringly on the kittens. To be precise, a certain white one had caught her attention. This tiny beast already had the ooooh and ahhhh oral responses flowing from my mother. Things were about to spiral out of control; I should have sensed the danger that was lurking.
The Humane Society assured my mother that all the animals had been spayed or neutered and were up to date on their shots. There was, however, a $10 fee to register the kitten to the new owner; the surgery and shots had already been covered. I was about to be blindsided… I, yes I, found myself settling the fee to the society while stressing certain conditions to buying the kitten for my mother. Call me a pushover, if you want to, for paying for the little furball, but I still had cards up my sleeve. Among the conditions I had laid out, the big one was that I name the newest member of our family, and I wasn’t about to go down without a fight.
On the way home, I was urged to consider “Snowball” or “Snowflake.” There were other variations, all dealing with snow and white. Until we arrived home, I kept my thoughts to myself. To be honest, I hadn’t made a choice until my dad came out of the house and saw the kitten.
“What’s its name?” he asked. I looked up with a straight face and replied,
Dad laughed and Mom looked disappointed.
She looked at me and asked, “Why Bruce?” Dad laughed even louder when I replied,
“Would you rather I named her ‘You Idiot’ so you could shout that from the front porch when you wanted to call her?” I knew I was going to lose, but decided I could have a bit of fun. Bruce soon adapted to our family and her new name, Snowy. She stayed with us for quite a while until one day she hopped the fence and vanished… she did have a mind of her own. Cats always do.
By I. Kartouche