Becoming Lola

November 1st, 2012

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This particular day started out like any other, except that: 1. it was my birthday and 2. I was sicker than hell. Jer had been teasing me for a couple of months about what my birthday present that year might be, but refused to give me One. Single. Hint.

Ang and Jason arrived at our house around 2pm to join Jer and I (and Mason and Aiden, who were 7 months old at the time), and insisted that as we drove to our destination, I should wear a blindfold. I agreed, and I had NO CLUE where we were going. I tried paying attention to the turns we made, but quickly lost track.

When Jer finally stopped the car and removed the blindfold, I shrieked. I LITERALLY shrieked, 7th grader-style, and squeezed the daylights out of Jer. I had been asking to get a cat for quite some time. “ARE WE HERE SO I CAN PICK OUT A CAT??” I squealed. Of course, this turned out to be the case.

I met a few different kittens, and they were all adorable. They all reacted similarly to us strangers: they would meow, sniff a little, and then shy away. I wasn’t disappointed but if I had to choose from that bunch, not one would have jumped out at me more than another.

Then we arrived at the room farthest down the hall. We hadn’t reached the door yet, but I could hear excited meowing from the other side.

I looked in.

There, all jet black and perfect, was the tiniest kitten I had ever seen in person. She stretched her little body as far as it would go, attempting to reach the doorknob when she saw me through the window, meowing loudly. The humane society worker opened the door, and Mason, Jer, and I walked in. This kitten crawled all over us, head-butting Mason’s hands, and continued to meow. I told Jer that there was not contest.. this was the cat I wanted!

We had to come out and close the door to go over paperwork, and pay for the little love, and when I looked back in the window, she was jumping from her playground to the doorknob, failing, and trying again. Oh, I loved her!

Just as I had picked out a litterbox, food and water dishes, brushes, etc, a different humane society worker came up to us, asked if we were planning on adopting the little black kitten on the end, and when we responded, she asked to talk to the lady that was assisting us. She walked away for a moment, and I felt an awful twinge in my stomach.

When she came back, she looked at me and said, “So, I have some bad news. The cat that you chose was mistakenly put out on the adoption floor when she is not up for adoption. She has a bad leg, and it may need to be amputated.” I STARTED BAWLING. “But that’s the kitten I want! I love her!” I cried. The lady looked at me and said “the vet is doing an exam on her right now, to determine whether or not she can keep her leg.”ย Jer and I waited for 2 hours while the kitten was being examined. He asked whether or not I wanted to pick a different kitty.. a perfect one without a deformity. I didn’t. She was perfect!

The vet finally came out of the back and informed us that at this point in time, the kitten’s leg was not causing her any pain. She seemed to function just fine with it, but obviously it was our choice if we still wanted to have her, as her leg caused an increased risk of arthritis and other ailments for her. I just looked at him, of course, and said “I want to keep her.”

We packed her and her new things up and took her home. In the car, everyone asked what her name was. I answered, “Her name is Lola.” It was the first name that jumped into my head, and it suits her.

She is almost 3 years old, and her leg does not bother her one bit. She is crazy, affectionate, and dog-like in the way she plays, not hindered by her shorter leg. You can notice her limp when she walks, but it does not stop her from jumping, climbing, and running! I lover her so, and can’t imagine having chosen a different kitten that day.

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I wanted to share this story in honor of National Adopt-A-Cat month. I’m so glad I found Lola!

xo

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