For those who know me well, know that patience isn't one of my best traits. I'm tempted to spin it and tell you that it's actually a strength and that I'm your girl when you need something done. And done properly. But you probably won't believe me! Time is my enemy. And people who tell me to "be patient" come a close second. I know. I know. But...
It was with the excitement of a 6-year-old that I drove to Royal Ascot this weekend, frustrated by right-hand-lane hoggers (patience), closely following a print-out of directions to lead me to a potential new member of my household. An eight-week old kitten that happened to be born on my birthday. A sign! I'd seen the photos, I'd even given her a name. And decided that we'd be partners in crime on lazy Sunday afternoons, immersed in a DVD I'd already seen 10 times, ensconced on the couch with "Poppy" ensconced on my lap. We are content.
I knew that she still needed to be weaned, and that I'd only be able to take her home in a week or two. Oh the agony of having to wait that long. Oh, the volumes of fantasies I'd write in those two weeks. Oh, the shock and startling disappointment to discover that Poppy (who they'd named Rocky), MY Poppy, had been promised to someone else. I was semi-crushed. Thankfully there was another kitty that needed a home (they'd named her Donnie) and so I set my sights on her.
This was difficult since Donnie, the little bastard, didn't want to be held, cooed over, petted and loved and scuttled under the
couch to hide and sleep. Ah, cats. I called her, and talked sweetly and played the piano all over the carpet in a deft (daft) attempt to get her attention and coax her out of hiding. But it was not to be. Still, I was resolved to take her. And force her to love me. (Patience.)
For the rest of the weekend I strung words together in patterns, waiting for one that worked and stuck. She's grey, so I ran through a mental thesaurus hunting down clever synonyms, petite posies of letters and such that would suit her. When it hit me. Lady Jane, the 9-day queen. A real madam. It works. Satisfied with myself, so began a new reel of cat mother moments and the countdown continued. Made worse by not knowing exactly when I'd be able to take her home.
But this gnawing voice kept telling me that something wasn't right. And that these things should not be forced. And luckily Donnie's/Lady Jane's cat mother was listening to the same voice. Not wanting me to disappointed, she suggested a kitten she'd met at the vet. A bold. friendly sweetie-pie. And did I want to go and meet it. Two cats, two names, two fantasies down. Down the drain along with swallowed tears.
I have learnt my lesson, cruel fate. Patience is a virtue. And you shouldn't name something you don't have. And as the excitement creeps back under my skin and the prospect of taking a little ball of fluff home fills me with love and wonder, this time I will heed their motto and be patient. And as I chant quietly under my breath, if it's meant to be, it'll be... maybe, just maybe, I'll call her Grace.
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