Kristen and I spent half the day driving from shelter to shelter all over LA looking for kittens since she was determined in every sense of the word to find a kitty--today. Finally I made a call. 15 kittens available at the SPCA-LA. We hauled ass since Kristen was on a schedule. After a 20-minute highway drive into uncharted territory, we walked in and went straight into "The Cattery." The door was decorated like a child nursery. Four kennels in the first room. Two kittens, one bunny, one empty kennel. Next room was strictly a play room for adult cats. One large cat named Iris looked to be ruler of them all, perched high on a scratching post and extremely intimidating. Branching off of that were two kitten play rooms, with constantly stationed caretakers in aprons playing with them, because heaven forbid they aren't frolicking like kitty-cherubs.
In the very first kennel, before the adult cat playroom, was Mason: a tiny chocolate kitten with long legs, green eyes, and white specs on his chest and tummy. He lounged in our arms like he'd known us since birth, stretching out for our hands and faces. He meowed when we left him to play with the others. In the second kitten room, sharing a kennel with his sister, was a white kitten named Tolouse, the only white kitten in the entire facility, no black or brown to be found, just grey. "I've always wanted a white boy kitten," I said. I asked to hold him and he wailed in the cage and in my arms, desperate to play. The second time I held him, he was more relaxed and purred on my shoulder. I wanted to give the only white kitten a second chance.
Kristen wasn't able to leave Mason alone for more than five minutes at a time. No other kitten compared. He wasn't easily distracted, nor did he have that baby dumbness that kittens usually possess. He seemed intelligent and calm for his age.
Giving Tolouse a third and fourth chance in my arms, I decided on him. I wasn't letting him get away. So Kristen and I had the caretakers take the Mason and Tolouse's cards off the cages, meaning they were taken, and we spent about 30 minutes filling out paper work for the both of them. It involved calling Jessica and having her talk to the manager so he could make sure she wasn't allergic. Mason wasn't neutered nor did he have a microchip, both of which Tolouse already had, which meant I could take Tolouse home, but Mason would have to be neutered the next day and be picked up on Tuesday between 2 and 4 PM. I'll have to do that since Kristen has class.
The manager gave us each a cardboard carrier with holes to take the kittens home in. On the bottom of each was a sewn, rustic knit mat--mine multicolored, hers purple. Then we were handed fancy customized folders containing our paperwork and information, along with two large tote bags stuffed with free goodies like cat nip, food, treats, and toys. The manager went back with the cardboard carrier and put Tolouse inside.
In the car, I took him out because he was whining and I cooed, "You're freaking out, I know, you're freaking out." After about 30 minutes, he fell asleep on my shoulder despite the bumpy roads and harsh turns.
At our apartment, he met a slew of people within an hour. Friends flocked from everywhere to catch a glimpse of him. Jessica, Crystal, John, Mitch, my hair dresser. They all cooed over him. Kristen had comedic outbursts about not being able to hold Mason till Tuesday.
When Kristen was in class, I drove to Collars & Leashes and bought a litter box for him. Then I took out the bathroom mats to wash them, mopped the floor, then mopped it again, and dried it with a rag.
During dinner, Jess, Kristen, and I were debating on a new-house name for Tolouse. I had originally wanted to name him Sasha, a definitive of Alexander, because I love unisex names. Then, because Sasha wasn't received too well by friends, it changed to Shiloh. I was pretty stuck on "S" names. Finally I went to babynames.com and saw Skylar. That was it. He immediately became Skylar; it was already programmed. I told my roommates and neither of them liked it that much. Finally Kristen said she had the urge to call him Tucker. Since that name is already very high in my book, I decided my little white feline would indeed be Tucker from now on. When he's not zipping from room to room on a catnip high, attacking random objects on the floor, he's sitting next to me or kneading on our bodies.
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