Sometimes it Takes Awhile - Sprinkles

My volunteer shift starts out slowly. I take a young couple in to see a kitten that they've already met and pretty much already decided on.
The little tabby behaves adorably, and they agree to take her.

Then another young woman asks to see Nikita, a sweet, soft and outgoing tabby. She confesses that she can't have a cat in her apartment but she just really misses having a cat around. She's fairly new in town, maybe a bit lonely too, and we sit and chat and swap cat stories, while little Nikita slithers between us, purring and batting at her toys.

There are a bunch of cats who need socializing visits, and I move condo to condo, spending quiet lap time with a series of shy girls. Ten year old orange and white Sprinkles is finally starting to come out of her shell. She's a big, kind of chunky girl, who usually stays in constant nervous motion – she kneads, rolls around, hides and reappears, kneads some more.

Today, though, she makes it into my lap, and once there forgets her dignity in a big way. She curls into a feet up ball, and starts washing her paws and face, then grabs my had with both her paws to give it a wash. She's so cute but no potential adopters are around to see her.

Toward the end of my shift it gets busier, though. A couple who have been making the rounds have a list of several cats to meet. We start with Evie and Nikita, both young friendly adult females. The women are dressed alike, both with longish blond hair. They are clearly cat people, and explain they had to put down their last cat after he got ill.

As we sit with one then another cat, talking quietly, noting their special characteristics, I discover they only lost their cat a week ago. I realize they are not so much stoic as still numb. The taller of the pair seems the move vulnerable or in need; she's also calling the shots as far as naming the qualities they're seeking and deciding who to visit next.

A delicate but important part of my role involves assessing a potential adopter's fit and readiness to take on the responsibility of a new cat. And while I have no doubt these women would make great kitty parents, I have to gently suggest that it may be too early to get another cat yet.

I avoid telling them how they should feel, but speak about my own experience, of how there was such a huge gap and the strong need to fill it, yet that time of mourning was part of the healing process too. They kind of hear me. But kind of get lost in stroking the cats too, speaking in low voices to each other about how much they like them.

They're leaning toward a gorgeous four month old orange tabby boy. I was hoping they would want an older cat, then I could at least say it would probably still be available in another week. Instead I leave them still thinking things over; the best I can say is that I'm sure whichever and whenever they choose, the cat will be lucky to go home with them. And I take off, reminding myself to be glad I'm almost a year past that immediate and painful period of grief.