Making Myself Useful - Kitter

I’ve barely got my apron on when my first customer approaches. She’s already been through the shelter and has a selection of young adult cats she wants to meet. A cat person and recent veteran of an 18 year long cat relationship, she need little assistance; I’m just there to open the doors and confirm her thought process. Not surprisingly, she settles on the top kitty on her list, the first one we met.

Soon after, a group of young people want to meet some kittens. Initially, one young man comes in a small condo with just two shy kittens. Unfortunately, the little gray one he likes hides completely and can’t be coaxed out. By this time the group in the hallway has swelled to seven or eight, a youthful, mixed race group that’s mostly men, and I’m going to say mostly gay. (Hard to tell with these young guys, possibly they’re merely gentle, friendly and unusually well groomed?)

Four of them accompany me into a bigger condo housing six kittens. It’s cuteness squared. I gather that two of the guys are a couple, and they don’t know the others – but they all pass the kittens around while the people still in the hallway call in info about age and names from the cards on the door.

The original guy decides on a sweet little gray and white girl. When I offer to write down her ID number, he says he’s got it, and whips out his phone to jot down the number and snap a couple photos. (Up to this point, I was unaware of the cell phone’s use as a notepad.) I, with my so last century pencil and scrap paper, again feel a bit superfluous. But I’m glad he found his kitty.

The main group troop off together, talking enthusiastically. I take the couple in to look at a few more kittens, and they agree on an adorable shy tabby. They’re impressed this tiny guy seems to know already what he likes and doesn’t like.

At last, some quiet time to socialize the grown cats. I meet Kitter for the first time. She’s a pretty, soft and sweet gray fur ball, a long hair 11 year old with a loud purr, loving disposition, and a funny anxious meow. She rubs and purrs, alternating between happy feet kneading and rolling across my lap. After a bit, she calms down and curls up, blinking up at me to say how happy she is that I’m here with her.

And I remember why I’m here too. It’s all part of the process.