Castigation of a Cat Owner, Take 2

Before reading this blog, please read this one.
Alright. Now you are up to speed on the situation with my cats. I finally found a temporary home for them, and they are in a safe place where they are loved and fed and pampered. In the process of trying to find a place for them, though, I encountered some negativity from Craigslist pet stalkers. In any case, they are currently safe and happy, but I am still looking for a permanent home for them. There's your set-up. Here's the story:

Today, I went to the co-op to buy the ingredients for this amazingly delicious coconut vegetable spiced soup that I plan to make for my family this weekend. Going to the co-op is never uneventful for me--never. I am constantly running into people I know and saying stupid things or having strange communication.

(I once had an entire interaction with a cashier in which I thought we were talking about singing and she thought we were talking about my dead cat. And I once flirted with the produce department by blathering about how hot our mutual college-aged lesbian poet friend is when I looked over to see the poet's mother standing there, listening to me basically objectify her daughter.)

Between constantly running into people I know, dropping things, and running into the parents of my undergraduate lovers, I have learned to brace myself for anything while shopping at the co-op.

But I was not ready for the guy I encountered today.

Sometimes I think people fall out of thin air and present themselves as blog posts. Thanks, buddy.

So there I was, cutting myself a slice of orange-patchouli zum soap, far from the pet aisle, nothing remotely pet-related in my basket, not even covered in cat hair, when I heard a male voice ask, "So do you have a dog? Or a cat?"

I looked up to see an unassuming man making eye contact directly with me. He was standing by the bulk soap too, but he was just standing there. He made no indication that he was in line to chop soap. I tried to put the question into context. There was nothing about me that indicated I was a pet-owner at that point in time--I had not even visited the pet aisle. "Uh, no, er, yes," I said, unsure how to answer the question. The faces of Luna, Nubia, and Schmee were all dancing around in my head, and a tinge of grief for all of them was surfacing. "I mean, yes, I have two cats," I said, not quite sure where this conversation was going, nor how to answer such a simple question.

"Would you consider fostering a pet?" he asked.

I tilted my head and my heart filled with empathy. I know what it's like to try to find someone to take a pet. "I'm so sorry," I said, "I really wish I could. But I am actually trying to find a permanent home for my cats, too."

My overflowing heart swelled for this man and his pet that needed a home. I felt like we had something precious in common. Had I known him better, I would have taken his hand and squeezed it and told him not to worry, to just keep asking around--the right loving home will present itself!

But I was wrong. We were not kindred spirits at all.

The man grimaced and said, jarringly, "So you're just going to dump your cats?"

I stood there, stunned, patchouli-orange bar soap in hand, my snowy boots dripping onto the tiled floor, and looking at this man who had appeared from out of the blue to comment on my aptitude for discerning what is best for my pets.

"No," I said, "I am not going to dump my cats. I am searching for a loving home for them."

"Stray animals are being killed by the thousands," he hissed, his eyes narrowing and his voice dropping to an accusatory hushed bass. "Thousands and thousands of pets who are dumped by their owners are being slaughtered."

At this point I abruptly pushed past him and walked away, tears welling up in my eyes. Was this really happening? Who the hell was this guy? Why me? My arms ached for the fuzzy fur of my lovely pets.

I went straight to the check-out line, purchased my things, and left. The guy did not follow me. Only afterward did it occur to me that he had not been holding a shopping basket or towing a cart. He had not appeared to be shopping at all. And only then did I realize that perhaps I should have alerted a staff member of the strange behavior of this man.

I mean, he has a point--there are way too many stray animals out there. People are giving up their pets all the time, or taking on the responsibility of pet ownership when they can't really make the commitment. But, buddy, my situation is complicated. You don't understand.

I drove away from the co-op wondering what on earth prompted this guy to ask me, of all the many, many people doing last minute grocery shopping before darting town, about pets. What a strange coincidence. Right? The more I think about it, the more I begin to concoct some wild story about the connection of the co-op guy to the Craigslist lady. Maybe she discovered my identity and reads my blogs and knows that I shop at the co-op on a regular basis. Maybe he was her recon man. Maybe she knows I use zum soap. Maybe he was sent to Mississippi Market to intercept me and to shame me for giving up my cats.

Probably not. Probably it was a wild coincidence. Regardless, it shook me up a little, but at least I have something to write about.

And, for the record, one more time, my cats are safe and happy and healthy. And I am not a horrible pet-owner. Jeez.