The day my family acquired the first of our two Japanese bobtails, we knew it was going to happen, even before we left for the cat show. My mom had walked out of the house fiercely stating, “We are absolutely, ABSOLUTELY NOT getting another cat,” knowing perfectly well that we were.

When a new pet is about to enter your life, the sound of destiny chimes in the air. You know a big decision is about to be made, you know the responsibility is about to change your lifestyle, you know you’re going to spend a ton of time scrubbing the floor and picking up broken household items, and yet the day glows with excitement because the best thing in the world is about to happen.

This Monday felt exactly that way: I knew I was going to get a cat. The time was right—I had been in my new apartment for a few months, it had been a healthy amount of time since I last owned a pet, and I had finally gotten over some mental ailments that a long, dark winter provokes (the unwillingness to get out from under a blanket, an unrequited longing for someone who clearly isn’t interested, a general distaste for anything that involves being awake). I was ready to start anew; screw the weather.

It was a cold but sunny morning– my day off– and although Lackawanna looked like a battered salt fortress after a long, heavy blizzard, the morning felt clean and new. The mall was dotted with senior couples and moms with strollers, the two most likable mall types.

I saw the orange letters of Tabby Town glowing down the walkway, but the gravity of the situation felt too heavy without a pretzel and a lemonade first. It is a strange but exhilarating feeling, sitting alone in a ray of sunlight on a mall bench, eating a baked good, feeling the weight of a milestone decision in a small plaza of calm shoppers. Would I meet a new family member today?

“Still Waters Run Deep”

When I did enter the store, I was hit with the familiar smell of feline. The place was a large, cement-floored commercial space (once a record store), made homey with comfy cat decor and a garden area bordered by a picket fence. Wire cages full of rescued cats in fluffy beds were stacked two by two in the middle of the room and also lined the walls. Many of the kitties were enjoying a stroll outside their houses.

I went by each cage as I’ve done on visits before, scratching heads and looking into the yellow and green and blue eyes, trying to feel out a good match. (Trying to find a cat is basically a modified form of speed dating.) I told one of the volunteers (we can call her Beth) that I was in the market for a cat, and she said I could take out any one that I wished and spend time in the “meet and greet” area, a back room with a table and chairs and a few kitty jungle gyms.

I first took out a feminine white and gray girl whom I thought was cute and took her to the back room. I told myself, “Hmm, maybe this could work.” Her jewel-like eyes and soft purrs had seemed alluring from the other side of the bars, but as soon as she was free she stood around for a quick head pat and then whisked out of the room with a flick of indifference.

Next I tried a spunky black cat named Velvet, whose incredibly soft fur fit her moniker and whom Beth described as “awesome.” Both Velvet and I felt that rush of excitement as the cage door swung open, imagining the possibilities of a life together. She had a certain moonlight power about her and a sleek perfection that one would find in cat shows, but once we got into the back room she also seemed more interested in the door.

I sat on the floor of the meet & greet area for a while, allowing other kitties (a feisty, petite calico, a grumpy tabby, a “mall walker” named Rob Zombie) to make their way in and out, but no one seemed to fit. I felt a little sad that I hadn’t met one that I really liked, so much that I started to wonder if I was just being too picky.

I was about to get up and leave when Beth came in and pointed out a black and white longhair behind me who was nestled between the wall and a cat tree. He had been so quiet I almost hadn’t noticed him, but now I could see that he had been watching everything with great interest.

“This one is Bernie Bean,” Beth said. (Bernie Bean!! How adorable!!) “He seems very shy at first, but once he comes out of his shell he’s just a little ham for attention. One of the other volunteers had him bouncing on her lap to ‘Party Rock’ on the radio this morning.”

A cat that will allow me to pick him up and dance with him? That was the first sign. It was then that I looked at his face and comprehended just how incredibly cute he was. He had large, innocent green eyes, a long black face with a white mouth and a black puzzle piece pattern on his nose. His round white paws reminded me of winter boots and were placed politely together in front of him. He seemed very interested in all the shenanigans that were going on and wanted to join in, but was just a little unsure. I knew the feeling.

I put my hand out to let him sniff it, and after a short hesitation he cradled his head in my fingers. His hair felt coarse but fluffy, and his markings formed a patchwork pattern. He reminded me of a big scarf. I moved back a little. He stood up from behind the jungle gym, stretched upward, and then came over and put his head in my lap. I pulled him to me and realized he was mostly fur. He had also carried half the contents of the floor with him. Beth came back in.

“I had a feeling you would like him,” she said. “A woman actually found him on the street after he had been abandoned. She surrendered him at a shelter somewhere in the southern tier.”

I hugged him closer and pictured the person who had dumped him out in -20° wind chills swerving off the road into a ditch, getting pinned under their car, having their face eaten by a bear and then eventually getting rescued, but having several limbs removed due to frostbite. I looked at Bean’s little jelly bean paws. They looked chapped, like he had walked on cold streets covered in road salt. His fur was slightly matted on his tummy too.

“He still has some tangles in him, but I just haven’t had the chance to work on him yet because he’s been so shy,” Beth said. She pointed out a hard, white knot on his chest. “He loves to be brushed though.”

“Aw, I loved to be brushed too!” I almost said.

I told her I was interested and she eagerly went to get the application paperwork. My history with animals and mental stability checked out, and I was soon signing the papers to make him my baby.

I asked if I could pick him up in a couple days, because I needed to prepare at home. Beth and the lady at the register said absolutely, and we chatted for a while about their animals and my family’s animals. It is such a wonderful, warm feeling to talk to people who truly love animals, because even though there are the scum-of-the-earth bags of feces who abandon their pets on a cold night, there are just as many nice souls who volunteer their time to help relocate those abandoned pets.

***

Since Monday, I have been working diligently to prepare Bean’s new home, cleaning and vacuuming and buying all the feline accouterments. It’s strange to see a Tidy Cat tub of litter sitting in the hallway, because while I’ve grown up with cats in the family, I’ve never had one that was mine alone. I spent last evening organizing my bedroom (i.e. frantically bagging all clothing and shoving it in the closet), because while the living room and dining room are neat, I know Bean will want to start in a small space (and not having a male cat spray all your sweaters is pretty good incentive).

Also, here is my bay window, decorated for St. Patty’s Day and the coming of spring. Just celebrating the last days before my furniture is blanketed in cat hair. At least now I know my hardwood floors will always be dusted.

I pick Beanie up in half an hour!