On Friday, I pick up the kids immediately after school to head to the local pet supply supermarket. I have made a mental checklist:
Litter box
Kitty litter
Cat food
Cutesy bowls for food and water
A toy – one for each kid to play with with her.
A membership card enrollment, an engraved collar charm, a full cart, and $86 later, I leave the store with:
A stylish and not-too-deep kitty litter box and coordinating mats for underneath in case of accidents or overzealous attempts to cover one’s own poo.
20 pounds of super deluxe kitty litter that does all but bio-degrade the aforementioned poo.
A 20 pound bag of the most nutritious cat chow money can buy. And three cans of cat food with “gravy” and some nifty looking treats guaranteed to make her purr.
Matching, specially designed for cats, decorative food and water bowls that coordinate with the décor of my kitchen where Kitty will also be dining.
A ball designed to make a cat insane, a feathery toy on a flexible pole, a second feathery thing mounted to a flexible post with something resembling a small human head that can be bopped by the cat for fun (?), a scratching board with a toy mouse affixed to attract a cat’s attention (natch), a planter of “cat grass” already in the growing process, a “grow your own” cat grass kit that my green-thumbed Girl Scout can care for, and a catnip mouse in a jazzy leopard faux fur fabric.
A breakaway, adjustable pink collar with black dots and a pink metallic bell from which the engraved heart-shaped collar charm will dangle.
A wire brush for grooming. What every stray is missing in their lives.
I envision keeping all of this in the car until we ascertain that Patrick will not blow up like a float at the Macy’s parade upon entering the same room as the cat.
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