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One day an elderly couple came in to the Animal Shelter as I was paying Finnie's registration. What an intriguing place to meet not only animals, but people. Some are grieving, some are searching, some both. These two moved slowly. Sadly. But with purpose.
I couldn't help but follow them into the cat area as they slowly managed their canes down the hall. I discovered they were trying to choose their new pet and I was curious which one they’d choose. But first, they needed to pay respect to their beloved 18-year-old cat that they had just put down.
"She would lay on my husband’s chest and go nose to nose with him." With reverence, the wife described their Katy. The man cried in remembrance, wheezing in discomfort. My heart broke for him, and yet I liked seeing the hope and anticipation they had in choosing a new friend.
They studied the array of kittens and cats. The wife kept tapping on the windows. A certain white cat with black spots returned her play. "I like this one," she smiled slyly. “Her name is Tippy.” Her husband nodded. And that was that. Until he pointed to another window. "How about this one, too?" "he suggested hopefully. “No Raymond!" she scolded.
I zipped ahead to the front desk so no would beat them to Tippy.
"Well you first need to play with him in the room," the receptionist explained.
"No!" The wife tapped her cane with conviction.
"I mean a cat can be different than you expected,” the woman behind the desk warned.
The wife had already made her decision and was having nothing of the secretary’s caution.
"Do you want us to change our minds?" the wife challenged.
At that point I left, assured that the couple--as well as the cat--would once again find comfort in loving and being loved.
