We took her back Thursday night. Couldn’t take it any longer. It’s one thing to hate the other cats, but after a week and a half, you have to stop biting the hand that feeds you. Or you can get the fuck out.
I have returners remorse, but it’s already dissipating. The house is calmer, the energy is rebalanced.
Kenny gave me a big speech before we went back to the shelter with her: No looking around! Don’t touch anything else! Don’t go into the back room! We’re dropping her off, turning around and going to Best Buy.
So we brought home a new little black kitten.
He fell in love with her.
We of course went to the back room to see how Wicked was going to be in her cage. She was fine, by the way. We gave her the cat bed she’d grown accustomed to, but she opted for a last fuck you our way and laid down in the litter pan instead. Scooched to the back of the cage when we tried to pet her. No love lost there.
While there, this little black cat across the aisle SCREAMED at us for attention. The loudest meow out of such a little kitten.
Of course we had to pick her up, and then she must have watched the Orientation Video that all new drop-offs must be required to see, coaching them in the steps to get adopted:
1/ Scream for Attention.
2/ Once you have their attention, cutely paw through the cage.
3/ After pick-up, snuggle up in their arms, burying your little cat head.
4/ Begin purring immediately.
5/ If they even think about putting you back, cutely and innocently “mew” while making sad eyes.
6/ Enjoy your new home!