It’s a drop in the ocean, really so little compared to COVID-19, the war in Ukraine and the undermining of the fourth estate by our neighbors to the south and Elon Musk (and much less impressive than the celebration of the Argentina goalkeeper following their victory at the Football World Cup), but I would like to give you an update on Titi.
Titi is a gray cat with green eyes who left us after 16 years of uneventful life. A normal cat in a normal family. My wife and I buried her last summer at the cottage and we planted bouquets of lavender on her grave. Sometimes our three-and-a-half-year-old son tells us that he misses Titi and we miss her too.
So we decided to adopt a new cat. My girlfriend and I have had cats all our lives. We love them, we take care of them, we don’t declaw them. We like to think of ourselves as normal people who have healthy relationships with animals.
The trouble is, people who sell cats are a bit intense.
Long gone are the days when I got myself a cat for $15 on Mont-Royal Avenue! Most animal shelters now require forms and cover letter. A telephone meeting ensues to prepare us for an in-person visit where we are told not to expect to leave with any of the cats. No. It will be necessary, if we are selected, to sign a “foster family contract” and someone will contract us after two or three weeks to see if everything is going well with the cat.
It is, to put it politely, a fairly tight vetting process. The price ? Well, not much… $300 or $400 all included (vaccines, sterilization, microchip, etc.). It seems that it costs more if we do everything at the vet and it seems that it is true.
We’re ready to play anyway. My girlfriend makes calls and for the sake of honesty, she admits that, yes, we let our cats go outside for short walks. We think it makes them happier cats than just spending a lifetime inside four walls. And that’s when we are told that it’s not going to work. Shelters don’t like it when you let “their” cats outside.
One of the consequences of this selection process, the rigor of which would make a Pierre Poilievre stray on Roxham Road blush, is that these shelters are often overflowing with cats awaiting adoption, to such an extent that their owners multiply crowdfunding campaigns in order to stay afloat.
Of course, having a cat isn’t a right, it’s a privilege. Shelters can sell to whoever they want, after all.
But where I get irritated is when we are told they want to meet my 3 1/2 year old boy to see how he will behave with the animal.
There, it comes to my head of swear words, some in Latin. So what do these fine animal psychologists hope to find out by interviewing my three-year-old boy? He learned this week that yellow snow is best not eaten and red bath bombs smell like strawberries.
As I told you, it’s really insignificant as a situation, a drop in the ocean, so little.
But tonight, I miss having a cat and people don’t reassure me.