On Cat’s-Paws – UPDATED

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Regular friends of the decanter will know that Ol’ Robbo has alluded here several times to the new kitteh which has been foisted upon him by the unpredictable currents of Life at Port Swiller Manor.   Well, here’s the story behind it:

We have some friends, an older couple, the female half of whom Mrs. R first met through one of her social clubs.  This couple have a very elderly cat who is on the verge of joining the bleedin’ choir invisible**, and have decided that the best way of dealing with the loss will be to bring in a replacement immediately.  Fair enough.

Our friends decided they wanted a kitten.  So Mrs. Friend duly got in touch with one of the many local adoption agencies.  I’m not totally clear on what went on in this conversation, but the upshot was that the agency refused to let Mrs. F have a kitten on the grounds that they thought she, Mrs. F, was too old.  As far as they were concerned, kittens are for young homes, not for ones where there is a chance they’d outlive their potential new owners.

Somewhat mortified, Mrs. F turned to Mrs. Robbo with her problem.  And between them they concocted what I have come to think of as the Great Kitten Fence Scheme of 2020.  Under their plan, Mrs. R would adopt said kitteh herself and quietly slip her over to Mrs. F.  No problemo!  Mrs. R applied, was interviewed, was accepted, and cheerfully signed the adoption papers.

Needless to say, it was only after all this occurred that Ol’ Robbo gained any inkling of what was going on.  And I only found out about it when Mrs. R shoved the signed contract in front of me and asked if, in my professional opinion, I thought it would hinder her handing the kitten on to Mrs. F.

I’d be willing to bet that within a 15 mile radius of Port Swiller Manor there are probably at least 50 kittens available free to a good home, no questions asked.  But the Mrs. F and R had gone to some Crazy Cat People somewhere just off Capital Hill, and Mrs. R had signed a four-page contract chock-a-block with provisos and prohibitions.

Scanning it, I said, “Aside from the fact that this contract specifically forbids you to hand the kitten over to a third party without permission?  Aside from this clause allowing the agency to come around and spot-check the kitten’s location and condition at any time, and even shields them from charges of trespass?  Aside from the bit that says any monkey-business will result in the immediate confiscation of the kitten and no questions asked?  Why, no! I don’t seen any problems!”

Cor lumme, stone the crows.

It may seem like small beer, and I can’t see where even if we were caught out illicitly handing the kitten over we would be opening ourselves up to any kind of deep-pockets (HA!) liability.  But Crazy Cat People are Crazy Cat People.  And if we were detected fencing the kitteh, at the very least it would be deeply embarrassing, and probably a pain in the neck to unwind.  And after all, even though Ol’ Robbo works in the Swamp, he’s not of the Swamp if you know what I mean, and certainly doesn’t want to be embroiled in even the tiniest smidgen of impropriety that might possibly cause trouble with either his job or his Bar membership.

After I explained all this, even though she had gone into town and scooped in the kitteh anyway, Mrs. R duly contacted Mrs. F and told her the show was off.  (This, and secondary strategy sessions, in a series of insanely complicated phone conversations which drove me nearly batty to overhear.)  I don’t know what Mrs. F is doing now, but I hope Mrs. R passed on to her my advice, which was basically, “For Heaven’s sake, just read the classifieds in the WaPo!  There’s always kittens being given away there!”  (In fact, we procured our own first pair nearly thirty years ago via this route from an apartment handyman somewhere in Rosslyn.  He didn’t give a damn where they went.)

And as for the kitteh?  You probably already see the checkmate:  “Oh, she’s here already! And she’s soooo cute! And the Gels already love her! And we promise we’ll do everything that needs to be done to help Decanter Dog and Decanter Cat accept her into our home!”

Sigh.  It’s not as if she’s a bad thing in and of herself.  She’s a cheerful little orange tabby, friendly and energetic, and of somewhat longer hair than any other kitteh we’ve owned.   But as I’ve written before, I fear her assimilation into Port Swiller Manor will be more difficult, and possibly more dangerous, than any of my wimminfolk seem to think.  I sincerely hope that I’m flat wrong.

We shall see.

 

**Spot the quote.  This one’s a gimme and I’ll be ashamed if you don’t spot it.

UPDATED:  I suppose I should clarify my fears, which now really only concern Decanter Dog.  (We’ve introduced the kitteh to Decanter Cat, and while the latter plainly isn’t happy about things, I don’t think she’s actually going to prove a bully.)  When DD first came home, she seemed to take in the three cats we had then as part of the landscape, and pretty much completely ignored them.  But she positively hates all outside intruders, human or otherwise, and she once actually went for my In-Law’s dog when they came to visit.  (That was fun!)  My worry is that if and when she actually notices the kitteh, she might behave the same way.  Ol’ Robbo simply can’t afford all the therapy that would be needed amongst his wimminz were that to happen.