A few years ago, my husband and I created a little mantra- just between us. I’ll share it with you now.
“NO more kids. NO more pets. NO more grapes.”
It’s not that we’re against children. It’s that we’re happy with the two we have, and we decided two for us was plenty. We’re not against pets, either, but we were looking forward to a pet dander-less existence after our dog Duke and cat Tank kicked the bucket. As for the grapes? We never get lucky with grapes. They always go bad a day or two after we’ve purchased them, so why buy spoiled grapes?
Really, this is entirely my fault.
I’ve bought plenty of grapes since the mantra. But come on, who can live without grapes? The kids love them. Deep down, so do I. Why deprive ourselves? This brings me to pets. I’ve gone back on that one, too. There was the infamous Snakey. And the infamous guinea pig Timmy, who we know will outlive all of us. We’ve got a fish- does he count as a pet? I don’t know if that one really counts.
So, a few weeks ago a good friend of mine tells me she’s taking care of a newborn kitten. It’s mother had abandoned him. My friend had these appointments and errands she needed to run, and would I be so kind as to babysit the newborn kitten while she goes to said appointments and runs said errands? Who was I to say no? The moment I placed the tiny little guy in the palm of my hand (that’s how tiny he was, he fit right into the very palm of my hand) I told her, “He’s mine.” There was this instant connection. I had this strange feeling that the kitten belonged to me. Mantra be damned! My husband didn’t want to back down on the mantra. “What about the rules? Why do you keep breaking the rules?” Because sometimes, rules are meant to be broken, am I right? And sometimes, moments occur in life where you have to do what feels right regardless of some mantra you made up a few years ago. Times change, and you have to change with it.
We officially adopted the little guy on August 22nd.
That’s the day I brought him home. The guinea pig is a lot bigger, but that comes as no surprise to me. The guinea pig can eat.
Here he is now:
He’s 4 weeks old today. He’s a lot of work. It’s like having a baby in the house all over again- there are syringe feedings and a few unmentionables I won’t bring up other than to say that these little guys don’t know how to use the bathroom on their own when they are really tiny. He chews on me or my clothing due to teething, and has had a few accidents here and there although he’s becoming a champ at the litter box. Such a fast learner.
I really love him. He’s becoming a part of our family. The boys love him, Duke loves him, the guinea big tolerates him (the pig merely tolerates everyone), and even my husband is coming around. We’ve named him Chance, which seems so fitting. The way he came into the world and the way he ended up in our home was all a matter of chance, and I’m so glad he did.
Here’s a status update my husband put on Facebook recently, after we decided to keep Chance: “All women are evil tricksters who manipulate men into adopting kittens”. Touche, husband. Touche. But don’t worry, the next time I see you two cuddling with each other, I won’t snap a photo and blog about it. Your secret is safe with me.