unfit parents

Jessie and I attempted to adopt cats on Monday, which we've been talking about since last summer when I decided to move here. We fell in love with two little grey kitties and started the application process which consisted of a questionnaire as well as an interview with this creepy cat lady who made us wait 45 minutes. She talked extensively about all the different brands of food and litter while we made kissy faces at our new pets.

She did capture my attention, however, when she explained that cats can live up to 20 years and was I ready for that commitment? "Yeah, uh-huh." But I was really thinking about what do I do with it when it dies? Can I burry it like I did my guinea pig in the woods behind my house under a little gravestone with ears carved into it? Well, I'll be 45 so by then I'll hopefully be more equipped to deal with that kind of situation. Ugh, 45?! I probably won't be living with Jessie by then. "We can't separate them," she says. "Okay, you can have them." She laughs and pinches me, my cue to not say these things in front of Jilda, the cat connoisseur. "Can I give it people food?" is my next question remembering how my friend Victoria's cats used to eat popcorn. Jessie coughs.

"Okay, that's the whole process. We'll be in contact this week to schedule a time to drop them off." "What?! We can't take them now?" I had been picturing holding my new kitten in my arms on the G train. Jessy buys a collar with dog bones on it and we dejectedly make our way home, sans pets.

A few days later we get an e-mail from Mrs. KittyKind telling us that we are, in fact, approved! Pending an addition to our home, that is. A screen door leading out to our patio. Seriously woman? It took us a week to get hot water. You think our stingy landlord is going to spring for a screen door?

So we're now thinking that maybe craigslist might be a better option for a less discriminatory cat adoption process.