Meeting Toulouse

My adorable friend Erin--and roommate for next year--is obsessed with animals. With as many cats and dogs that live in our town, she's almost impossible to walk with, cooing and stopping to pet every four-legged creature that passes us. A couple days ago she called to say that her friend's cat had kittens and could we maybe have one for next year because we could easily hide it from our future landlord? I'll be honest: cats aren't my fav. Mostly because I've had a rough relationship with my cousins black and white devilish fur-ball but also because they don't care about you once they become actual cats. Rarely do they grace you with their presence, they walk all over your counters, drink from cups that are sitting wherever--they are a tad self-righteous. But I'm a sucker for babies, so a chubby, black-haired, blue-eyed kitten who would cuddle into my arms sounded fantastic (This also may be because I've been watching too many pregnancy movies). So I said yes. Toulouse and I met last night.

It had been a long day. I conducted 5 interviews, had two classes, had homework and tests to study for and all-in-all walked nearly 7 miles going back and forth from classes/home/interviews. Exhaustion. But Erin and I had plans to watch Glee--which was amaaaaazing, by the way!--so she picked me up after one of my meetings and when I got in the car Toulouse was sitting inside her sweatshirt. "He's been having awful gas," she said as she pulled him out of jacket and plopped him into my eager hands. My dislike for cats blew out the window like the putrid fumes he was silently emitting. I adored his blue eyes and baby-soft fur but this cat could whine, so I decided to put him, along with his claws and sharp set of teeth, on my notebook that was sitting on my lap and made sure he didn't fall off.

After a few seconds I heard something hitting the notebook, something wet. "Erin--I think he's peeing on my noteb--" and before I could finish my sentence and look down, I smelled it; rank, diarrhea, overpowering the vanilla Yankee car jar hanging from the front mirror. Holding the cat in the air, away from my lap and wool sweater, Erin and I laughed hysterically. He was perched on the tips of his paws, terrified of being in the air. She quickly grabbed him and put him in an empty, blue solo cup that was sitting in her car. Feeling relieved now that he had used me as a Port-a-Potty, he innocently stared at me from the top of the cup, his big eyes wondering why I was no longer holding him. Tears were streaming down my face from laughter, but I wasn't ready to hold Toulouse again, nor was my sweater.

One day, maybe when I find new notes from my Law class that aren't stained by a cat's bowel, Toulouse and I can be friends. We've got a few months to work on it.