Nick and I had this conversation last night, about the kitten we rescued and are temporarily housing:
Me: The kids are going to be heartbroken when we find the kitten a home.
Nick: I know. But Boo has soured me on ever having another indoor cat. [Explanation: Urinary crystals and orneriness.]
Me: Well, you know… Boo’s old. He’s probably going to die soon.
Nick: We’ve been saying that for two years. And he’s still here, peeing all over our house.
Me: I’m just saying, if we give this kitten away, like, tomorrow, and then next week Boo dies, we’re going to feel like shit.
Nick: Even if we still had the kitten and Boo dies next week, it won’t be any easier on the kids.
Me: But a kitten is at least a decent consolation prize.
Nick: It doesn’t count as a consolation prize if you already have the kitten first. Then it’s just… there were two and now there’s one.
Me: What if we hid the kitten? Like, kept her in storage in the garage or something? Then when Boo goes, we could be all, “TA-DA! Surprise! We didn’t really get rid of the kitten! She’s just been in hiding. Like Quasimodo.”
Nick: Congratulations… Here’s this messed up cat that we shoved in a box and kept in storage for you?
Me: And she’d be adapted to the dark, like a giant mole rat, all, “THE LIGHT, THE LIGHT!”
Nick: That would be the worst consolation prize ever.
Me: Hm… You suppose I’d be able to use that flyer to try to land some marketing contracts?
Nick: Marketing what?
Nick: No. Just, no.
I’m sure that the kitten is as happy as we are to learn that she is going to have a happy home with a loving family, and not spend the next however-long living in a storage box, waiting for Boo to die.
Farewell, Nameless Kitty. I hope you have a wonderful life.