Great Escape - Adobe

My volunteer shift is bookended with older women adopting kittens after having lost their old cats, though they otherwise could hardly be more different. The first has already made up her mind and spends just a minute or so with her single choice before announcing she’ll take her. She tells me it’s her birthday, and her friend in the hallway will be paying the adoption fee. He smiles at her, but looks barely interested in the cat.

The other woman is far more contemplative. She’s just getting started on her search, and really intends to get a sense of the little creatures. She wants to get her new companion used to company and even able to sometimes travel with her, so she needs to find a special, trainable, open minded kitty.

There are a fair number of people around during the lull in the middle too. A pair of painters come to fix a leaky area in the end of hallway 5. Nearby cats react predictably – little Becca cowers and hides, "band leader" Tory glues herself to the doorway pawing for their attention, and Kitter watches for a bit, then falls asleep.

I seek a quieter place in hallway 4, but walk in to find a pair of men leaning down from their canes to pet a big orange and white cat in the middle of the hall. They all look pleased with themselves, and I feel a little bad breaking up the party, but I pick up the escapee and gently toss her into the condo with the open door.

The men assure me that they didn’t let her out but she just wandered out while they were standing there. They seem sincere. They look like those guys who play bocce ball in the park – older, but feisty and fun-loving still. Just looking around, they say, and limp off down the corridor, pointing out cats that remind them of other cats they know or knew.

Adobe, meanwhile, meows from her doorway for a visit, eager for more company. She’s on the chunky side, with an orange head and white chest, a strong growly purr and a loud, demanding meow. Affectionate and drooly, she tromps across my lap pausing to knead and rub my hand with her head.

Not sure if she’s named for the building material or the software company or what. I think I might call her Steve McQueen – really, when I first returned her to her little room she looked like she wanted to take out a baseball and toss it in disgust.

A staffer comes by and I mention finding her in the hall. He nods, says it’s not the first time, that she can get the door open if it’s not clicked fully shut. She sits by me, purring happily, her little pink tongue just visible between her lips.

I still think of this particular condo as Emmy’s room. This is where the boyfriend’s older cat was housed back seven years ago when we toured the place and he found her. (Happy coming home anniversary, big girl! Glad you made your escape.)