We got a cat.
I’m allergic to cats. So is my kid.
The lad had been prancing around the alley for maybe a year, often with a fresh, flopping mouse in his muzzle. Now and then, he’d toss us a wink with his sparkly baby blues or a purr-filled leg swipe.
We’ve always had dogs, so it’s safe to say that we don’t know how to work cats. Plus we’re allergic to them.
Then we made the cardinal mistake of feeding the feline.
“You have a cat now,” said everyone.
“Congratulations on your new pet,” they said.
“You’re a cat mom,” said everyone. “He found you.”
Nope. I’m a human mom. I have a human child. And I’m allergic to cats. That cat will not touch a single talon inside my house.
He started horning into our lives during the October eclipse. He crawled into my kid’s lap while she was eclipse-bathing in the backyard. Their starry eyes locked and best friends were made. I did everything I could for months to keep him out of the house. We even made him a backyard bed.
“Mom he keeps crying on the other side of the door!” said my kid who was crying on our side of the door.
I bloody caved. Now we have a cat.
Archie, we call him, now has full-fledged nests built in every nook of our house.
The little ghetto monster came with a hefty amount of raccoon scratches, deep scars and only three fangs — which are now tattooed into my flesh. (Don’t pet a cat’s belly, I guess? Whoops.)
When we first brought him in, he scratched and bit into large amounts of human flesh — enough for me to almost punt him back out to the alley. (JK, I’m Christy Fantz, not Kristi Noem.)
But after a round of antibiotics and a snip of his bits, I avoided cat-scratch fever. Things improved greatly after we got him fixed. He stopped spraying all over the house, marking his territory, his aggression lessened and he became more needy for snuggles and love.
He’s quite the character. He learned indoor behavior immediately, including straight-to-the-litter-box. I was worried I had someone else’s cat. For months I posted on found pet sites and socials. But he was void of a chip and the vet thinks he’s been feral for life.
The allergies haven’t been bad, which is neat. (My oft-obsessive midnight mopping probably helps.) And now he purrs up to us, sleeps in the nooks of our legs at night, plays fetch with a stick like a dog, heeds to his name and fiercely protects my child.
We’ve learned his boundaries even though he doesn’t care about ours.
We will get another dog one day, but for now, Mr. Archibald is pretty OK. He’s low-maintenance, so I guess we’ll keep him.
Now that I’ve lured you under the guise of soft kitty fur, I’m also here to remind you that we’re in the midst of our voluntary pay campaign. Any contribution you would like to make to support local journalism is welcome, and greatly appreciated by this team of dedicated newsies. To help boost this free paper so it can stick around for a while, please visit BroomfieldEnterprise.com/donate to make a secure, one-time payment. Payments can also be mailed to Broomfield Enterprise, P.O. Box 19199, Boulder, Colo., 80308.
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