Nina

Yesterday, I came perilously close to buying a cat. I’d decided that, if I were to buy a cat, a Maine Coon would be my breed of choice. They’re big and friendly and pretty. She’d be a she because females don’t spray, and she’d be leukemia-free and FIV-free. And she’d have no front claws. I know, I know, declawing is amputation. Sorry. I own too much upholstery for it to work otherwise.

With all that in mind, I was cruising the adopt-a-pet sites last night and found the perfect cat, shown here. Her name is Nina. The fact that such beautiful animals are given up by their owners from time to time is remarkable to me, but hard choices happen. The hard choice that Nina’s owner had to make was between a new baby and the cat that felt threatened by said baby. Mommies and babies and suddenly growly kitties don’t mix, it seems. The combination makes a kitty’s hair fall out, which is what’s happening to Nina’s hindquarters.

I’ll visit Nina today to see if there’s any chemistry between us. To what end, I’m not exactly sure.