I saw this prompt and then lots of words happened.
Prompt: My stupid can snaked out on the balcony and into your open window and she has this habit of destroying furniture and pissing everywhere so I followed her inside and you came home earlier than I expected and I swear I’m not a burglar in your living room.
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This cat was going to be the death of her.
Three weeks ago Emma got suckered into attending an adoption event at the local Humane Society. Mary Margaret had dragged her along, not because either of them needed a pet, but because Mary Margaret had a crush on David, one of the employees there, and wanted an excuse to see him in hopes he’d ask her out on a date. They were just there to look at the animals, not take one home Mary Margaret had promised.
Except when David had greeted them, Mary Margaret became flustered and blurted out that Emma was there to bring home a kitten. Being the great employee that he was, David told them how kittens are always quickly adopted, especially at events like these and its really the older cats who are least likely to be adopted and maybe they could look at the older cats instead.
Cinnamon’s cage was the last one they visited in the adult cat room. Her name placard informed Emma that Cinnamon was a domestic shorthair and approximately five years old. But the part that really stuck out was the “possible behavioral issues” handwritten at the bottom in thick black Sharpie marker.
David was quick to explain. “She lived in a house with three German Shepherds. The dogs were not a fan of her and the owners paid more attention to the dogs. Eventually they moved her into her own room and she became destructive. She stopped using the litter box and destroyed the furniture there. The owner became upset and dropped her off here, not wanting to deal with the issue. But I think it was just territorial issues. She has always used the litter box here and hasn’t destroyed any toys or the cat furniture in the interaction room. We believe the behavioral issues are from feeling abandoned and likely wouldn’t continue in a home where she was the only pet.”
Emma felt Mary Margaret’s eyes on her the second David told them Cinnamon was abandoned. It was ridiculous to sympathize with a cat, but as a child who grew up bouncing around from foster home to foster home, she also felt abandoned for most of her life.
Emma reached her fingers into Cinnamon’s cage. The pleasantly plump white cat with sporadic light brown patches on her fur eyed her warily from the blanket on which she sat in the back corner of the cage. “It’s okay.” Emma said softly, wiggling her fingers and the cat immediately came over to her and began headbutting her fingers.
“I think she likes you!” Mary Margaret had exclaimed. David took them into the interaction room where they could spend some one on one time with Cinnamon not in her cage. Cinnamon immediately trotted over to where Emma stood and continued her headbutting into Emma’s legs.
Which is how Emma left the Humane Society one hundred dollars poorer and carrying a large pet carrier with a white and brown cat named Cinnamon inside.