My wife grew up with a cat and has wanted to have one herself ever since moving out of her parents’ home. This was not possible while she was still in medical school, but now that she has some downtime before she starts residency she has finally decided that it was time. On Saturday she picked up a 9-week old tiger-striped tabby from an adoption day at a pet store in Reading. I’ve not been looking forward to this day in particular, but I find cats to be tolerable and, if no work is required of me, perhaps even pleasant to have around.
Fortunately, the one she purchased is litter trained and quite sociable. In fact, getting her to go away from you for a few minutes can be difficult. Yesterday we had some friends over to watch the Eagles game, and she was not at all shy about all of the people, and in particular wanted to play with the toddler. She does have a bit of a problem with biting, and the experience of the last two days makes it likely that we will have accidental scratch marks for most of the next 5 months while she still has her front claws.
Unfortunately, she is exceptionally curious and has not yet learned to understand the phrase “No!”. She *loves* laptop keyboards, which makes it rather difficult to work when she is nearby. She managed to type and send an email for me, the body of which was “ZZZZZZZZZZZZZXVGGGGGGGGGB9″. There are a number of surfaces where she is not allowed: the kitchen counter and table, the desk, the digital piano, and the open part of our TV stand. Of course, these are the most tantalizing places, and at one point last night she was moving from one to the next as soon as my wife would see her on one, scold her, and put her on the floor. This probably happened 20 times in as many minutes. Most disturbingly for me, she decided to climb on the uninterruptible (hah!) power supply and hit a switch, cutting electricity to all of my “essential” computers.
Other than a tiny bathroom, our apartment consists of only two separate rooms, and the cat is not allowed in the bedroom. (In addition to loving cats, my wife is also mildly allergic to them.) This means that there is nowhere we can put her to keep her away from us for a short time. Eating breakfast on the couch this morning was a challenge, to say the least.
We have decided to name her Zoe, the Greek for “life”. However, my wife insists that the word “Zoe” is pronounced similarly to “Joe”, and that we should thus spell her name “Zoie”. I have not yet managed to convince her otherwise, so please comment to add your voice of reason to mine.
