I never planned on having three cats. I just need to get that out there. I feel like I've got the crazy cat lady neon sign flashing sometimes, so in introducing our newest (and last!) baby, I have to stress the fact that this was never in my original plan. I also have to stress that to my husband, because he was not the happiest about it. Oopsie.
Hear me out, though.
Tyler works with a lady who fosters cats through an agency, and over the summer she posted this photo of a kitten named Eleanor:
I know. I KNOW. What a little fluffy mess, right? Some *expletive* idiot threw her away--literally. She was found in a trash can (WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!), and thankfully rescued. I remember seeing her over the summer and thinking that she was adorable, what had happened to her was so beyond awful, and surely she would be snatched up in a heartbeat. I mean, who could resist that story and that face?
Fast forward a couple months later, and I'm scrolling through Facebook, minding my own business, when I see a picture of a fluffy white cat on my feed--there she was, still not adopted. I cried--literal tears. I know that sounds super cheesy and overdramatic or whatever, but I just couldn't accept the fact that she was unwanted, from the beginning of her tiny life and still. It was too much. I talked to Marci, who was fostering her, and she said that she can be skittish and "picky" with people. To be honest, I couldn't blame her for that; if I was tossed in a trash can to die, I'd probably be pretty picky about the people I trusted too. So I went to meet her, picked her up, and.....she started purring. She snuggled up under my chin, purred, and purred some more.
So I called Tyler.
We brought her home for a trial that night.
She never left.