Caleb and Gandalf

Ya’ll, I’m now a pet owner. I know this is old hat for most of you but I have not been responsible for an animal in like, 17 or 18 years.

It has been glorious freedom.

But…I have this child, who is no longer a child, who has always wanted a pet. All he’s ever had is a fish and a gecko because, you know…these animals cost money and a whole lot of time and emotional investment. But since time is getting away from us with this kid, and truthfully, since I don’t want to stand before God in Heaven to hear Him say, “Well done, Darlene, but why didn’t you ever get Caleb a pet?”, I decided to take in a kitten that my close friend was REALLY needing to find a home for.

I’m thinking, ok, outdoor cat, low maintenance, low cost, Caleb gets a pet, (not a dog like his heart’s desire) but a furry family member. This is good, right? Right.

My kitty, Gandalf, or Little G, is convalescing in our house right now after having routine surgery of castration and hernia repair. That’s more operations than I’ve had. The vet wanted to see me when I picked him up. (I’m always so afraid they are going to guilt me into doing this or that and paying a bunch of money for X,Y and Z for a cat that I want to take good care of, yes, but not take any heroic measures with. My kids have to go to college, you know.) So, he shows me some x-rays and tells me two things.
1.) Gandalf has a hip fracture. Ugh, heavy sigh. I know when that happened. I saw him jump from an outside shed and he landed on his back. I have never seen a cat NOT land on his feet before. It was very alarming and just, awful, really. But he just acted a little stunned and kept moving on normally so that was that. I had no idea he broke his hip but I know that’s when it happened.
2.) He has Hip Dyplasia. It’s hereditary. Vet says he’ll have good days and bad days all his life. Great. Poor thing. Although, I don’t think he is old enough for it to bother him yet. I’m not Googling that because I don’t want to be responsible for that knowledge.

So for several days, he’s living it up inside. There’s a litter box, which I did not want, but what do you do? I’m in love with this cat. He is in a very good place because I’m so dang tenderhearted towards him. My husband…well, not so much. He has progressed from “I hate cats,” to “I don’t want this cat,” to “I don’t hate this cat,” to physically caring for him in very small but important ways. He does this because he loves me. He doesn’t yet love the cat.

This is it folks. My first and last cat. But I hope he’s around for a long, long time. Or at least til Caleb moves out.