Early that morning I was jarred awake from a dead sleep—the sound: my phone ringing on my face. After checking to see what time it was at around 6 am I had simply let the thing slip down into the pillows and forgotten about it.

As it turned out, my mother said blaring through the speaker, it was Free Cat Day at the Humane Society, and as I had said something a few weeks ago about wanting a pet, now was the best time to do it! She would be there to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I groaned and threw the phone at the bed. It bounced up and hit me in the eye.

Almost immediately, I was flooded with the emotional roller-coaster of feeling that pairs well with taking a being’s life into your hands (and also, hard cheeses). I went through panic, denial, and indecision but it came down to one thing. If I was ever going to find if I truly wanted to become a parent, a starter-cat seemed the best solution. Cats are just like kids. Right?

After a short drive and a thorough search through the feline section, I came up empty-handed. Having missed the certain connection I was sure I would feel toward my future pet, I had felt nothing but mild amusement and a twinge of sadness at each cat’s predicament, having ended up in a cold glass case in a sad part of town.

Walking back around the outer edge of the cat area, I stopped to sigh and head toward the doors when I saw a flicker of movement from the corner of my left eye. There was a little gray and white cat in the last box.

It was, as most things in life, already decided. I knew he was the one when, in an act of sheer playfulness, he reached up and put his paw to the glass and let it slide down slowly, watching me all the while. A certain scene from the movie Titanic instantly popped into my head. This, combined with the fact that it was put there by a cat made me laugh aloud. I approached his corner box merrily. He was lying upside-down and peering at me watchfully through clear, green eyes.

For some reason it had not occurred to me that I would see a gray cat at the Humane Society. On the ride over I reconciled myself to the fact that I would probably come home with a black cat or an orange one; definitely not a white one if I ever wanted to wear clothes again in public without looking crazy. I had already imagined heaving cat litter up onto the belt at Target while trying not to feel the smirk of the teenager checking merchandise. Shaking off the feeling, I found myself pleasantly delighted at his patchwork of gray and white.

This thing was skinny and young, not a kitten but definitely not fully grown. He rolled over, sat up, and blinked at me slowly before again putting his paw up against the glass, turning his head to the side. I put my finger up against his paw and he immediately attempted to murder it, the clear barrier the only thing separating it from certain death. He had spirit then; I smiled, immediately forming an attachment. The card to the right corner of the case said, “Larry and Harry”.

With a glance over the contents of the cube I spied what I hoped was “Larry” sleeping in the litter box. If I was stuck with one of the names, “Harry” was much preferred.

Another family approached, curious as to my giggles at the little gray and white cat’s antics. I immediately became jealous of their tap-tap-tapping on the glass. A little boy asked his mom if this one could be theirs. I took one last look at the mongrel, now playfully batting at their fingers, and decided. Larry or Harry would be my mine.

It turned out that dedication and patience were in order. Animal adoptions would begin at noon and it was only 10:48. I sighed. The kid at the counter gave me a restaurant-style pager and told me it would buzz when adoptions started. I looked worriedly over at my claimed companion, concerned over the amount of children and parents crowding his box.

“Don’t worry”, said the teen, “You’re first in line, and you’ll at least get to see if he likes you.” He winked.

I shuffled outside to wait. As I exited the main doors, my mom met me at a bench and we sat down. She had wandered out minutes earlier to wait, thinking I had already given up on taking anything home. She saw the pager and was confused.

“What, are they going to seat us in twenty to thirty minutes at the Olive Garden?” She laughed.

“No.” I pouted, “The kid said I have to wait until noon and then we can choose which pet to get a meet and greet with. There are a ton of people swarming around his case though! He’s so adorable and I want to take him home with me this instant and….” I devolved into a series of grunting noises and garbled sounds.

“Oh, chill out woman! We’ll just wait right here and see what happens.”

The hour crawled by, not at all spurred on by my constant checks to see if that first family was trying to lay claim to my future pet.

Eventually, the pager buzzed.

“All-you-can-eat salad and bread sticks woo-hoo!” My mom yelled as we entered the building. I laughed despite my nervousness.

We approached the teen I had spoken to earlier and he directed me to the Adoption Agent, who I think was named Carla or Darlene. She looked as matronly as her name sounded.

In a no-nonsense voice she asked me if it was my intention to adopt a cat that day and that if I did, in fact adopt a cat was I willing to provide and care for such an animal for the duration of its life and/or until I could no longer bodily do so myself?

I answered in the affirmative, wondering whether Carla Darlene moonlit as an army drill sergeant on the weekdays.

She nodded her head roughly and pointed in to direction of a visitation room with her clipboard before shuffling off toward the area herself. We followed in her wake like ducklings, grinning madly at each other in silent amusement.

“Is this this animal you intend to take home with you today?” she asked, pointing to the Larry or Harry sleeping in the litter box.

“Erm, no. The one that’s awake actually, if that’s OK?” I said, meekly.

She rolled her eyes and yanked him out of his case. He seemed a bit unhappy about the whole process, as he was being removed from his audience of admirers. He glared at me as she approached us, cat in arms, with his long, white legs dangling free.

She plopped him down on the floor and he cautiously looked around the small room . I sat very quietly, suddenly feeling that I needed to make a good first impression on a very important person. He jumped onto the bench and stepped up onto my mother’s leg butting his nose against her cheek.

“He likes people, that’s for sure!” said my mother. I smiled benignly. I was the Mother Teresa of cat owners. I was a peaceful pond. I would not alarm him. This woman, Carla or Darlene, was watching me as intently as I watched the cat.

“So ehem, Ma’am, is this cat called Harry? Or is that the other one. The case says one is older…” She consulted her clipboard.

“Don’t like to be called Ma’am, he’s Larry, nine months old, male, neutered this morning.”

“Ohhh. Okay, that’s fine. I mean good! GOOD. I love the name Larry, he he he!” We had to get out of there, fast.

“Alright, I like him! Where do I sign?” I asked.

“Well now, I have to be sure that you do. There are four people out there waiting to have this little fella if you don’t want him so I need you to be absolutely sure here—I have the nine cats at home and I love each one of them like they were my own children. I don’t use regular cat litter I like to use old newspapers.” She finished without stopping once for breath and blinked at me owlishly.

Oh good, a hoarder! She could smell fear though, this woman.

“I’m sure! I love him already, crazy little guy, look at him trying to climb the wall, ha!” I looked at my mother and she assumed the role of authority figure instantly.

“We’ll take the cat.”