King Charles, Part I

I am currently charging the robot fish. Before that, I charged the robot bird.

"I'll take 'sentences people 50 years ago wouldn't understand' for $1000, Alex."

Life in 2025, when you work at home (and only leave the house when necessary) and you have cats is really strange. There are things you'd expect and there are things you wouldn't, and perhaps a little blending of the two here and there. For example, for our perpetually energetic but easily bored cats, we got both a robot bird that flaps around and chirps, and we got a robot fish that flops around like a real fish would. Both are stuffed with catnip and both charge via USB-C.

And none of our cats give a single flying shit about either one of them, despite their extreme novelty. 

Our home has felt very different since we lost Maggie and Sadie. Yes, we have other cats of course, but the dynamic has shifted. The old guard is slowly going away. Pete is still here -- as old and stoic as ever -- but he's been joined by three new (relative) children, all with their own quirks and personalities. They are the next generation; they are the future of cats in this household. 

Honestly, I thought we were pretty much done. At least for some time, anyway. Let Pete enjoy his figurative retirement as he enters the last months/year or two of life. I wasn't necessarily looking for another cat nor did I think I'd be really interested in one. The household relationship between all the ones we had now was good, Sadie had just died and the pain from that was fresh, and we went on with our lives after the holidays -- I returned to the grueling schedule of five overnights a week of work, I watched the Chiefs keep winning playoff games and head back to the Super Bowl, and Daisy lived her life again as she always had. We spent time together, cooked and ate dinners, went shopping and ran errands, visited her parents, and generally everything slowly went back to some semblance of a status quo. 

Then three cats popped up on the Nebraska Humane Society website that Daisy became wildly interested in -- a longhair tortie girl, a longhaired very orange boy, and a flame point little boy. 

All three arrived at the humane society on the day Sadie had died.

She really liked the tortie and the flame point. I, because I'm me, really liked the orange lad. All three of them were very cute. All three of them were in their holding period and wouldn't be put up for adoption for a few weeks. And, with the way NHS works, they may not make it to adoption at all -- they could be claimed by their owners or by NHS volunteers, who get first pick of all the new intakes. 

Daisy had given them names -- well, we both did. The little orange boy we called James, because for some reason it just fit him. The tortie girl she called Starla, and the little flame point she called Gary. It was a cute thought, but I still wasn't sold on any new cats. Sadie had just passed and I did not want to use misplaced grief to channel it into the love and care of another animal just because I was sad. If I were going to get another cat, it had to be right -- the right cat, the right time, the right feeling.

Still, James called to me. And I didn't know why. His little blue eyes, his fiery orange long fur -- there was something in his photo that told me "Brandon, love me, take me home." I couldn't put my finger on where that feeling was coming from or what was making it so prevalent. Adding to this, it was another boy -- and we already had two dominant male cats in this household. Still, there was a pull there, a connection that I couldn't ignore. It was as if I was being told that Hank needed a little orange son. 

Daisy was much more transfixed by the other two, Starla and Gary. Starla looked like Hank and Emmy had a child, as she looked like an exact 50/50 blend of each of them. She was beautiful and tiny, and for some reason, the name Starla that Daisy had given her -- randomly, out of the blue -- really fit her. 

Gary I was not interested in all. I did not think his name fit him, and I also wasn't impressed by his photo. He looked like a little ratty thing to me, and I've never been a fan of flame points. Nothing personal by that, just...I think seal points are much prettier and I always wanted a seal point Himalayan, like Sassy in Homeward Bound.

I was willing to hold out until I found a Sassy, or until I found another available cat that really called to me. I always thought flame points looked like albino raccoons, and not in a cute way.

We were devastated a few days later when all three cats were removed from the site -- they had either been reclaimed by their owners or they had all three been snatched up by the volunteers working there, who always got first pick of the new animals. Or, conversely, all three could have been sick and died too (I'm sure this happens a lot on intakes that legit come in off the street). Daisy, who seemed more heartbroken than I was, immediately signed both of us up -- with my permission, of course -- to become volunteers at the Humane Society on weekends.

As an aside -- this is something both of us have wanted to do for a very long time. I've told Daisy for years that if money were no object and I didn't have to work for a living, I would devote all of my time and efforts to volunteering at the humane society to take care of all of the cats and other animals there. It feels like my true calling in life is to help animals, to protect and love those little beings who can't protect themselves, to make them feel loved and safe and cared for. 

That's not a joke, either. I have felt a very strong pull to that destiny for a very long time. I would love to own a lot of property and to own and operate a cat sanctuary, a safehouse for all of the cats who have been mistreated or abandoned or otherwise had nowhere else to go -- a place where they can be fed and stay safe and warm and feel that they are loved. 

Anyway.

The volunteer training sessions start in March. 

Along with the volunteer application, Daisy also signed us up for a home inspection to be able to become licensed to legally house six cats instead of the city's normal statute of five. It's a special permit that must be renewed every year and it costs $100 for the home inspection. They're looking to make sure the cats have enough food and water, enough litter pans, enough space to have their own territory, and that there's nothing dangerous for them to endanger their lives. We'll have to clean the house a bit, but I'm not concerned; our cats live a life of leisure and luxury, with multiple food and water bowls, pans, two giant cat trees, plenty of roaming space, and the love of two very devoted parents. 

"It's likely just a tax, babe," I told Daisy. "And by that I mean I am guessing the 'inspector' looks at the house for less than five minutes and then checks a box. They're really just doing it for the money, which goes directly to the humane society."

We had the inspection scheduled for yesterday. And then Daisy got really sick.

I was sick about two weeks ago with a bad cold or something similar -- a sore throat, lots of sneezing, wild sinus congestion, chest congestion, headaches, a light fever, etc. It was not fun, and it lasted about five days before my body slowly, finally, kicked it out of my system. It wasn't Covid (I tested), and I chalked it up to just being a run of the mill winter head cold.

Well, about two days after I had really recovered from it, it hit Daisy -- and it hit her hard. We had to kick out Emmy's yearly vet appointment by a week, and had to kick the inspection back a week as well. Daisy's still not all the way recovered yet, but she's slowly getting there. She also tested for Covid and was negative, so I am guessing it was just a cold. She still doesn't feel great, of course, but it will eventually pass as all other sicknesses do.

We had just sat down to dinner on Friday night, and Daisy checked her phone and gasped. "They're there tomorrow!" she said, "they're back on the site!"

I did not know what she was talking about, and then she showed me her phone:

They had goofy names, but two of the three were back on the site -- the little orange cat (which was apparently a girl) and the flame-point boy. Starla, the tortie, was nowhere to be seen. 

We turned off the movie we were watching and began discussions.

For me, seeing that the orange cat was a little girl, for some reason, made me less interested in her. She was still beautiful, but...for some reason in my head I was set on her being a little boy, a son for Hank. I didn't really get the call for her, the tug at my head and heart, that told me I needed to adopt her immediately. But I was still curious and somewhat interested.

Daisy, on the other hand, thought she was beautiful but was more interested in the flame-point boy. She has always wanted a flame-point and they are exceedingly rare, especially rare in a shelter adoption environment. People breed for flame-points and they sell for high prices. This one looked ratty and tiny, but had those piercing blue eyes that he'll keep for life. 

I was not interested in him at all. He did not give me any sort of feeling one way or the other. 

Eventually, after much discussion of possible names -- I'd had a few to give the little girl but none for the boy because I wasn't interested -- we decided we'd be there before opening to wait in line in the morning to be the first there to look at both cats. We didn't have to get one, and we couldn't get both because of the inspection not being yet complete, but we wanted to give both of them a shot and get a vibe check. With that decided on, we went to bed.

Daisy said she dreamed about the little flame-point boy all night. I got up early the next morning and ordered dry kitten food, kitten treats, and multiple cans of kitten food in the event that we did bring home a new child. In my mind, at the time, it was going to be very iffy. I would have to be sold on either of these cats. I don't take cat adoption lightly; this is a cat that's going to find his or her forever home with us and I have to be 100% certain that he or she will mesh well with the rest of the household as well as us. Hank and Emmy were furious with us for a few days after we brought Mable home, and Mable has since become the baby -- she is very sweet, but is also set in her ways and has her own patterns and quirks. If I don't think any new cat is going to mesh well with them, or interact well with us in a household that already has four cats, then it's all over.

But, I will say, by the morning hours I was set on seeing that little orange girl, and was hoping I could love on her and she'd be receptive and fun.

Daisy tended to be open and optimistic about the whole scenario. If we felt a connection, cool. If we didn't, there are always going to be other cats. Our past year has been awful, as you know, but as the month of January has gone on, there have been multiple silver linings here and there and things have kind of been looking up. Sadie's loss was still fresh, and she knows I've been grieving her in my own ways -- mostly quietly and unseen. She said that it was overall my call whether I wanted us to take home either of these cats today -- or any cat in the future -- and I had naming rights (as long as she approved) if we did. Truthfully, that made me feel a lot better -- I would not be forced to walk out of there with a cat if I wasn't feelin' it, and it wouldn't make me feel I was letting Daisy down if it wasn't meant to be or I was still uninterested ater meeting both cats.

We were the first people at the humane society on Saturday morning -- we arrived around 9:30. It was freezing. We immediately got out of the car and went to wait outside the door, starting a line. As we stood there for the thirty minutes before the place opened, a line formed behind us -- a long line. I aggressively held my ground. We had our paperwork done, we were prepared, and nothing was going to stop us from seeing those cats first and getting first pick if we wanted them. Once they let us in, we went right to the counter and locked in the first visitation reservations to see them in a small meeting room. Said small meeting room was back behind the cages in the cat section, so we'd be walking right by them to get into the room.

The lady who ran the introductions was the same lady who adopted Hank to us almost two years ago. "I just played with both of them this morning," she said. "They're both very sweet little kittens."

We walked down the long hall lined with cages until we got to theirs -- they were being kept together -- and we laid eyes on them for the first time. The little orange girl immediately scurried to the back and tried to hide, and the flame-point boy came running up to the front of the cage to greet us, big blue eyes wide, excited and wanting attention.

Fuck, I thought. It's all over. 

Both were brought into the meeting room with us; I took the little orange girl first. And oh was she beautiful -- so much prettier than the picture would have led you to believe. She was also very fluffy and very tiny, did not really want to be held or played with, did not want to interact with the boy or with us, and remained somewhat aloof and frightened.

The flame-point boy wanted love, wanted to be held, wanted to run around and play and jump, and acted like Hank. When we held him, he purred so hard, so loud that he vibrated, could be heard across the room, and sounded like Maggie.

Fuck, it's all over. 

The adoption lady let us have several minutes with them, during which Daisy and I discussed further. The little girl was beautiful -- like Empress-level beautiful -- but she acted like Sadie. Very much not a "I want to love and be loved" cat, an aloof and shy cat that wanted to be left alone. And while I loved Sadie very much, I already have a lot of those traits in Empress -- who only really wants love and play and attention on her own terms and would rather be a loaf and sleep most of the time otherwise. 

But this boy...this flame-point, little ratty kitten with giant blue eyes, a long tail, and super-loud purrs...he was like Hank. He was giving off big Hank energy. And he was very cute. I started to feel the pull a little.

Still, the little girl was really cute.

"I don't know," I told Daisy. "What do you think?" 

"I think the decision is yours," she said. "I'm fine with either one of them, or I'm fine with just going home."

I did not feel pressure one way or the other. But as I held that little boy I knew we would regret it if we didn't take him home. Maybe not that day or even for a few weeks, but we'd look back on it and regret that we didn't get him when we had the chance. And I'd be fulfilling one of Daisy's dreams -- to get a flame-point.

It was at this point the lady came back to the room and asked us how we were feeling.

"I think they're both so cute," Daisy said. "I wish we could take them both, but, permit."

"Are they actually siblings?" I asked, "or did they just come in at the same time?"

"I don't think they're actual siblings," she said. "Just same day intake, same time." 

Daisy looked at me as if she knew what I was going to say.

"We'll take the little boy," I said. 

As if he knew, he came running out from under the bench across the room and rolled around all over the floor at my feet. I picked him up to love on him and he purred hard.

She again left the room to go get his paperwork and kitten medicine (I'll get into this more soon enough) and I immediately turned to Daisy. 

"Names," I said. "Now. We don't have much time and she'll have to put the name on the paperwork. He's not a 'Gary,' he does not have the personality of a Gary."

We quickly ran some names by each other, names we'd thrown around before, before we looked at him and one stuck.

"Charles," I said. "Little Charlie."

It fit him. It really fit him. I don't know why. 

His new name was put on the paperwork, he was put into the now-familiar cardboard box that kittens are transported in, and the adoption process was painless. We were waiting for all of the paperwork to be processed when one of the other humane society volunteers came up to us.

"Settle a bet for us," she said. "Which one is it?" 

"It's the little flame-point boy," I said.

"Ahhh, well we were wrong. We thought the little orange girl would be the day's first adoption."

And $181 later, we were out the door and into the car with our new infant son. 

Charles does not like the car. He cried incessantly and tried to tear the box apart. 

I texted the parents. "We're on our way over, and we have a surprise."

"I know," Mama responded. "I've been tracking you."

Mama can track Daisy's phone with an app so she knows where she is and what she's doing. It's not a malicious thing, just a motherly one. 

We fought through what felt like an hour's worth of traffic with a screaming child in the backseat so that the parents could be the first to meet Charles. And when they did, well...

Hi everyone, meet our new son.

Charles is very sweet and loves to be held. He is eight weeks old, has been fixed (and still has a nasty incision scar because there were mild complications), and is very vocal. His purrs are so sweet, and his meows very cute. His big blue eyes are striking and stunning. His tail is as long as his body and is already getting raccoon-like rings on it. He is happy and healthy and loves to play and get any and all love bestowed upon him.

But how would he get along with the other cats?

Well.....