by Renee Erreca

The alarm by my bed screams 5:30 AM. I hit the buzzer, curse to myself and slip out of bed. In the shower I run over my to-do list, and then I dress in whatever is clean and head for the door. Late again, as always, but at least the parking spot I found last night isn’t miles from my house, in the bad neighborhood, that happens to be the only place I can afford. I escape from the bottom floor of the old Victorian I share with my uncontrollably messy roommate to head to my dead end job. As I step out to the porch a soft “meow” cuts straight through my self involvedness directly through my chest to every maternal instinct I possess in mere seconds. I turn back into the house to see where this fuzzy little man can spend the day, until I am home to figure out a responsible or at least a reasonable place to make this extra-toed, weirdly friendly, wayward little orphan a home.

No Renee, no more pets. I can hear my roommates’ voice already. We recently saved a box full of kittens from a similar fate, so she does have a point. Also, the house is already cat smelly and the vet bills are killing us both. Head outside and tell the little guy you can’t help him. Tell him your inner Angelina Jolie wants to, but your wallet is limiting you as usual. Cue cell phone. Ugh, roommate is calling; do I even want to answer? Could be an emergency I guess. I hear her voice rattling on and I sort of zone out until she asks if I have met a little kitten that has made itself comfy on the porch outside. I snap to life. Yes, I have met him. What, you think we should keep him in the house until later? Maybe we can bring him to the shelter? Yes, that is reasonable. I hang up and head outside to scoop up the little cutie I have already named “Chester”.

Heartbreaking, stomach wrenching, utter disappointment, he is gone. I sulk because I am late and now there is nothing to look forward to when I get home. I lug my body toward my car and unlock the door. As I step into the driver’s seat I hear it. Is it my imagination? Am I losing my mind? There it is again, a soft little “meow”. Elated doesn’t even begin to cover it. I scoop up the little oil covered ball of softness from under my car and hurry back inside. I quickly wipe him down, give him kisses and assurances that I’ll be back after work and I am gone. The day flies by while I mastermind a way to keep this little guy a part of my life. Even if I convince my roommate she’ll take over every bit of raising him like she did with our other kittens. Maybe Michael, big maybe, he is allergic. We’ll see.

I ask Michael what he thinks about keeping Chester at his house. I declare my undying love for the little guy, but Michael is not pleased. He will let the orphan stay one night at his house to save him from the evil clutches of my roommate from hell, but then the little stow-away will have to set sail to the shelter nearby. Well, that gives me time. I pack a bag for Chester and take him to meet my boyfriend, the softy at heart. I pretend not to notice as Michael falls in love with Chester faster than he once fell for me. I sense this, but don’t push. I turn to leave with a couple of instructions and keep my fingers crossed behind my back.

The next morning I call to check on my two favorite men. It turns out my boyfriend has a rash across his chest. I ask about the cause of the rash and am pleasantly surprised to find that the rash is a result of a certain kitten sleeping on his chest. Adorable, priceless, mission accomplished. Surprisingly, the rash disappeared after a couple of days and any other signs of an allergic reaction disappeared right along with the rash. It’s funny, Chester moved in before I did, but by the time I arrived, bags packed and ready to move in with my boyfriend turned fiancé, I already knew we had the makings of a happy family.