In the begining.

Because some of you have missed this:

In January of 2009, we decided to get a cat. I wanted a pet, and we are often gone over the weekends to places where a pet isn't all that welcome, and so it was decided that we should get a cat, rather than a dog. Cats, as an added benefit, are much cheaper than dogs, particularly as I prefer rather large dogs. We only wanted one, as two were deemed too much expense, and probably too much trouble.

Our household is fairly busy, even though there are only two people living here. There is a business in the front room, and so we needed a cat that would be ok with lots of random people coming and going, as well as one that was ok with large groups of people, since we also often have gatherings here. Most adult cats are fairly anti-social, except in a very few cases, and most of those cases aren't given up to shelters, because they're awesome cats. So I started looking for a kitten.

In early February, there weren't very many kittens available. I checked Craigslist, and the local shelters, and even the newspaper. I started calling every single one I found, because so few of them bothered to respond. It was depressing. When I finally got a hold of a kitten rescue on the Peninsula, I was told that they couldn't work with me, because I live too far away. In bad traffic, on a bad day, I live 45 minutes away from the Peninsula. I'm willing to drive out there, meet the kitten, possibly pay $125 adoption fee, and you can't work with me because of where I live? "Well, we do home inspections before you can adopt." Ok, so figure 45 minutes, let's say an hour, to be kind, to drive here, an hour for a home tour, and an hour drive home; 3 hours, at most, of someone's time to see to it that this kitten has a good home? Alright, fine. When I saw the same kitten re-posted two weeks later like some unwanted couch from hell, I called again. I understand that we live out of your normal range, but, come ON. If you haven't found anyone yet, can't we just come out and meet with you? The answer was still no.

I am glad for how things worked out, but seriously? I think if you really had that kitten's best interest at heart, you'd have met with us, at least.

By the end of March, I'd spoken to exactly two people, total, and had no luck at all. Kitten Season is Spring and Early Summer, so my anxiety was mostly just me being silly, but it still felt a lot like we were never going to find a kitten, let alone one mellow enough to thrive in our household. After all, don't most cats no like people? I was on the verge of giving up, when one of our friends came over, and, very casually, mentioned "There are kittens at my house." Boy did I perk up!

It turns out that her housemate fosters kittens for the Berkeley SPCA, and had been doing so for many years. This particular batch of kittens had been found at roughly 6 days old, abandoned, no mother in sight. There were six of them, ranging from 94 to 134 grams YES, GRAMS, each. The heaviest one weighed about 5 ounces, or a little more than a King Size Snickers bar.

We met them four days later, just as their eyes were opening. There were three darling little orange kittens, destined to become tabbies, and three darling little black splotchy ones, destined to become tortise shells. They were far too young to have much in the way of personality, but each one had a little paper collar with a little paper nametag. They were named after fruits: Coconut, Pomagranate, Pina Colada, Guava and two others that I don't remember. An orange kitten, Pomagranate, promptly curled up and fell asleep in my Fiance's sweatshirt pocket when picked up, and the others mewed and were generally darling. We had to tear ourselves away.

We visited a number of times after that, and fairly quickly decided that we wanted to adopt Pomagranate, because he was the mellowest, and most inclined to sleep on us. All of the kittens love people, since they are bottle raised and don't really realize that they're NOT people, but Pom was the most affectionate.

All along, people told us "Get two." "Get two, they can keep eachother company, and a second one isn't that much more expensive." "Get two, the trouble goes down, and the cute goes up. Exponentially." I kinda wanted two, but my Fiance was adamant that we would only get one, as cost was an issue for us. On our last visit, my Fiance picked up Coconut, the smallest of the kittens from the start, and said "You look like a Desdemona." And then, shortly after, he caved, and we were getting two kittens, instead of one.

We coordinated with the Foster Mom, and found out that our kittens would have their surgery to spay and neuter them on a Wednesday, and they would be available for pickup that Thursday. Promptly at noon, when the SPCA opened, I was in there, asking about kittens. "Oh, just go in the back, and pick them out." I was told. So I went back... but where are MY kittens? They weren't there. I went back out. "Um... I was looking for two specific kittens, Coconut and Pomagranate, they were fostered by a friend of ours..." And the story unfolded. The kittens might have ringworm, and so were going to be in quarantine for at least two weeks. The woman I was talking with asked if I wanted to pick out different kittens. I wanted to ask if she was crazy! but instead, I told her that, no, we had spent a lot of time with these kittens, and wanted them, and would wait, thank you. She took my name and number and said she would call me in two weeks to let us know if they could be picked up.

Only later did it occur to me that if the kittens had ringworm, we were already pretty screwed, since we'd been petting them and handling them fairly often. Even later than that, I did some research; even if they'd had it, if we hadn't shown any signs, it was fairly likely that we were one of the majority of the population who CAN'T get it, and so we had nothing to worry about. That doesn't really matter to an organization trying not to get sued, however, so we waited two weeks.

Two Thursdays later, I was again headed over to the SPCA, just in time to arrive when they opened. My phone rang, but as I was driving, I didn't answer it. I came in, and the woman I had talked to last time smiled. "I knew you'd be coming, I just called!" She'd left our kittens in the back so nobody else would adopt them before we arrived, so she went to get them for us while we filled out paperwork. Well, more specifically, while *I* filled out paperwork. My Fiance was ok with kittens, but they were going to be MY kittens, and my responsibility. He would not be cleaning up after them or feeding them, or anything. Fair enough. So they are legally mine.

"I'm glad you waited for them" the woman said. "So many people wouldn't have." God, why not? Our kittens are amazing, and affectionate, not to mention super cute. I can't imagine the kind of person who would spend all that time getting to know a kitten and then decide not to get it, just because they needed to wait an extra two weeks. I had been waiting for several months now, a few more weeks didn't really matter to me. I was given some food, coupons for supplies, and some litter; I told her that it was fine, because I had everything already; I'd had it since two weeks prior, when I'd thought they would be coming home with us. She asked me to take it anyway, since it was part of the adoption fee, and also gave me her card; she's a cat-sitter.

Packed up with the food and paperwork in my hands, and a box full of squirming kittens in my Fiance's, we headed to the car. While I drove home, he let the kittens peek out of the top of the box, but didn't let them roam. The short drive was uneventful despite it's being so very new to the kittens.

Upon being let out of their box and into the room that had been prepared for them, our kittens went MAD. They ran in circles and inspected every single crevice of the room, pausing only briefly to purr at us and eat a little. All work ground to a halt for the day, and almost everyone I know called or dropped by to see the kittens. They were finally home, and we promptly re-named them.

The sleepy little orange tabby, formerly Pomagranate, became Ed. In a comic called Digger (www.diggercomic.com) there is a character who was outcast by his tribe in a ceremony that involved his name being eaten. He is renamed by the main character, who thinks that not having a name is silly. She calls him Ed. Since our little kitten had his name eaten by his siblings, we decided to call him Ed, after the comic character.
Desdemona, previously Coconut, got her name on the Fiance's whim, at the same time we decided to adopt her. We have a friend named Des, and we didn't want to cause confusion, so
we were going to call her Mona, but Wall-E had just come out, and my sister suggested calling her Mo and hoping she was a neat freak... and we did. And it fits her just fine.

Mo is my Little Kitty, even though she is the large of the two now, because she was the teeny-est of the six until after leaving her Foster Mom. Somehow, she got HUGE after that.
Ed is my Smaaht Kitty, because... well, he's kinda dumb. He does things that range from silly, such as hopping into the shower and then looking suprised to be wet, to the downright insane, like squeeeeeezing out a barely open window and then crying when he realized he couldn't get back in. With Twilight being all the rage, people ask if his name is Edward. It isn't, but if it were, he'd be Edward P. Dowd (although it's supposed to be Elwood), not Sparkly Edward with the bad hair. My kitty isn't Oh so smart, but he is Oh so pleasant.

And that's how these stories started, because these two are too cute not to share.