About five years ago, I was living with some of my friends and I decided it was time to get a pet. I found a lost dog and I suppose that inspired the idea. I couldn't locate his owners so I decided that I should keep him and that I would make him my own.
I bought him some food and a collar, a leash and some toys. I even named him Sam. But despite all that I did for Sam, he didn't want anything to do with me. In fact every chance he got he tried to slip away.
I couldn't keep him in the house so, I boarded up the back fence and I attempted to keep him in our big backyard. But Sam wouldn't have it. He always seemed to get out somehow.
I spent most mornings chasing him down the street, calling out his name, finding him and walking him leash in hand back to my house. I couldn't let him go for a minute because he would take off. That should have been some indication for me. There were plenty of hints but I convinced myself that he was mine.
One morning, Sam had gotten out like he always did and I went racing out to go find him. I think I may have been in my pajamas. I called his name as loud as I could without disturbing the neighbors and hoped no one would come out to find me looking like a complete lunatic. Then, I heard someone calling....another name (I can't for the life of me remember what). Curious I walked barefoot further down the street to find a woman searching in bushes and peaking between houses. I asked her what she was looking for her and she lets out a sigh and says her dog is missing. Well not "her" dog but this dog they found the other day.
Hmph.
I ask her if the dog has black hair and two golden brown spots above his eyes that look like eyebrows. Is he sort of short?, I ask. Like a weeny dog but has the look of a German Shepard?
Is he in the habit of always running away?
I can't believe I thought Sam was mine.
It turns out Sam had been spending time with her family too. He wasn't their dog. They found him just like I did. I guess I realized at that point that Sam wasn't all mine and that he was in the business of being everybody's rescued dog. Maybe he was always running off to be found by someone else. Maybe he was used to having people buy him a leash, food, dog dish and toys. Maybe mine weren't good enough for him. Maybe he was hoping for something better.
I called it quits and walked home with my dog leash and no dog.
Once Sam was gone, I knew I better go find my own dog.
Of course I looked at all my options. I was a regular at the pet store on Hardy Street. I guess that's the polite way of saying I was pet stalker at the Pet Store. I was there at least three times a week.
Everytime I went I got the same "oh it's you again" wave because they started to recognize me. I had no shame. I would give them the smile and nod and I'd point to the room with all the dogs and I'd spend some time searching for the right one.
But there never was a right one. I never got a dog. Turns out my roommate was allergic. Get a cat, she told me. I hadn't thought of that. So the search began for Murphy.
I was still doing my regular visits to the pet store, but decided to check the newspaper for any ads for kittens. There was a woman not far from our house who was trying to give away kittens so my friend, Bowman and I went over to check it out.
When we got there it was just as I expected. A mom (calico) cat and dad (tuxedo) cat on this woman's porch with several 6 week old kittens squirming around.
Some were gray and fluffy with matching grey eyes. Smoky, they looked like puffs of smoke to me.
There was one that was the worst calico mix I had ever seen in my life and one in the far corner of the porch, a tuxedo cat.
The woman was babbling on about how she thought her cat was neutered when she got it and then the next thing that she knew she had kittens in her closet. She tells me that the father is this tuxedo cat. She points at him. He's ours too, she says like I should know that the daddy isn't just some male cat off the street, that what we have here is something really domestic. she points to the calico kitten and says that nobody wants that one because its so ugly.
And it was.
I stood there staring at the ugliest cat in all the world. There wasn't a single patch of pure color on its little body. It's orange, white, and black hairs were mixed together like a mixture of creole seasoning.
I should have felt sorry for it. But sadly, I didn't.
It wasn't Murphy. I could tell that right away.
I think she thought her comment would spark empathy but I was really only interested in the loner tuxedo kitten on the other side of the porch. I walked over to the tuxedo kitten stationed off in the corner and crouched down beside her. I tried to pet her. Instead of a soft purr, she turned sharply around and glared at me. She let out this bark that I didn't even know kittens could make. Her eyes weren't sweet, they were cross. She was aggravated. A little ball of fury. How dare I pet her. She wanted to be alone. She moved a few feet to get away from me. And that's when I knew she was mine. Crabby little kitten. How could I not love her.More on this later. :)
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