Toby

This family has never had a pet. We have had some unsatisfactory substitutes.  A few years ago I ordered one of those self-sustaining enclosed ecosystems developed by NASA, where shrimp and algae and bacteria live in perfect harmony, forever, in a sealed glass globe. As I was describing it to the kids on the way home from school, Saskia (then 9) interrupted me with, "Mom! What you're telling us, is that you got us a pet!" The depth of emotion in that exclamation made me feel quite terrible. When the shrimp arrived, I wondered why they were pink; turns out they overheated in transit, and the colour transformation from greyish brown was the same phenomenon one sees when they're sauteed in butter and garlic.

A couple years later we got a Roomba, one of those robotic vacuum cleaners. The kids watched the demonstration video with me.  As a fleet of three Roombas hummed down a hallway in formation, Leif said reverently, "This is better than Planet Earth." 

We agreed we'd get a dog once Ilia was out of diapers. But then Pete and I, who've never had any difficulty making decisions together, could not settle on a breed. I like my dogs big and dignified. Pete likes a dog that can fit on your lap and makes the tiniest poos imaginable. A few times we tried to compromise on something mid-sized like a miniature Australian Shepherd, but we were both too resentful.

So we got a kitten. 

DSC_0365.JPG

I thought I'd find a free kitten in the classifieds. It doesn't work that way anymore. Kittens aren't free, at least not west of Chilliwack. They're not exactly sold, either; you'll get flagged if you post a pet in the "for sale" section of Craigslist. They're under "community," and they're available to be "rehomed" or "adopted" - but for a fee. They're $50, $100, more, and they go like hotcakes. Finally I found a litter for $45 a piece, in Abbotsford, that had one kitten remaining when I called an hour after the ad was posted. We'd wanted the experience of picking a kitten from the litter, not taking the leftover. I put it to the kids. We set off for the Valley.

The kitten was a tiny five-week old tabby that had been orphaned and bottle-fed. The kids were instantly smitten. No question - this little guy was moving to Deep Cove. 

His name is Toby, and he's got the undiluted affections of four kids directed at him, which he doesn't seem to mind. Ilia slings him over her arm like a purse, and he hangs there resignedly, front and back halves stretching down almost to the floor. He's figured out that Leif's bedroom door is the one that won't quite click shut, and in the night he'll body slam it open and curl up on Leif's wool blanket. He waits at the top of the entry hall stairs when the kids come home from school, eager, like a dog. 

Pete and I were out to dinner a few weeks ago and our conversation turned to meta living. I was saying that a life preoccupied with how one ought to live - while one of my very favourite topics - sometimes strikes me as ridiculous and exhausting. That’s why I love running - the animal, very present sensation of heart thudding and limbs cycling. It’s a relief to pull back from the big picture of life - or is it a pulling back? Maybe it's actually an embracing? There. I’m doing it again. “That’s why the cat is awesome,” said Pete. “He doesn’t think about it - he  just does. Eat. Drink. Play.” Looks like Toby will be my muse. 

He's not without his challenges. He was out exploring the cliffside behind our house when the neighbour's dog cleared their deck railing it a fit of overexcitement. Toby scaled a cedar tree in terror and remained there for the entire day until the neighbours brought out their ladder and rescued him. He tried a similar trick a few weeks later, necessitating Pete climbing onto our roof and setting up a kind of 2x4 balance beam to the treetop for the kitty to mince down. 

He chews plants, he flies at my legs from under the bed during the evening witching hour, and he is not absolutely odourless, as I prefer pets to be. When Pete and I are lounging on the couch on the deck in the evening, though, and Toby spots us from the yard and comes up and across the deck straight for us, shoulders bobbing up and down purposefully in this funny happy gait he has, I forgive him. He's a sweet little beast, and part of the gang.