With much skepticism, our landlords bought the “my Aunt has an extra cat” story and agreed to let us bring a feline into our apartment. To this day, I don’t know how or why they agreed, but they did. Their approval was a kick-start to the spinning of another web of lies that began at the Humane Society.
Once at the adoption center, I began filling out forms and asking questions. If I currently lived in an apartment, I would have to allow the adoption center to call my landlord for approval. While that’s a very valid point, the only word that came to my mind was “shit!”. That means I surely can’t use my new apartment address to fill out the adoption application! This was my "Aunt’s cat" that my roommate and I were going to be taking care of as a favor, not a strange creature from the streets! So, suddenly my form began to reflect my parent’s home address, because according to my never updated driver’s license, I still lived there.
After much sweat and anxiety, my form was finally completed. I heard the volunteer say, “While your information looks great, I’ll have to call your parents to make sure they will allow a cat in their home since they are the legal homeowners”. I told the lady that was fine, gave her my parents’ home phone number and excused myself to the parking lot as I had “forgotten something in the car”. It was in the parking lot that, with lightening fingers, I dialed my old home phone number and got a hold of my mom. I’m pretty sure my side of the conversation was a panicked, “Mom – it’s me. Stay by the phone! In a few minutes someone’s going to call about a cat adoption. Just tell them yes, it’s okay that I have one”. Without a moment to digest or comprehend what was said, my mom agreed and said, “Ok” in a questionable tone.
I hung up and returned to the inside adoption room. “You’re parents’ number was busy” the volunteer said. That was the only time I can ever recall having been happy that my father was too cheap to invest in call waiting. I replied, “Oh, give them another ring now, I’m sure they’re available!”. With that advice, the call was made, mom’s approval was given, and my roommate and I were the proud parents of a beaming baby boy. A Cowboy.
No comments:
Post a Comment