The other day, we went to the cluster of big-box stores over on Barrington Road where many of our simple needs may be met: Home Despot, Staples, and up until 2 years ago when Stuey died, pet supplies at PetSmart.

David had some errands to run at the other stores, and I decided to loiter with intent at the PetSmart, where I knew there would be some cats in their Adoption Center. Last weekend’s visit to a similar pet place near our hotel in Salt Lake started up a powerful hankering; it had been nearly two years since I’d even petted a cat or kitten, let alone merely holding one.

Last week it was easier to be detached and just enjoy petting the hopeing-to-be-adopted kitties, because we were out-of-towners and an adoption would be impossible. This week, not so easy.

Oh, I tore myself away in the end, but it was close. One big, solid black cat kept meowing for someone to pay it some mind, but I was more interested in the younger cats. Finally, I asked the volunteers from the no-kill Humane Society shelter in Downer’s Grove to open the cage for the meowy one, who wasn’t “in residence” at that Pet Smart, but one of the transient ones from the shelter. I was handed a vast sable purring lump, that immediately curled up in my arms, wrapped one (declawed) paw around my neck, and gave me a mighty head-bump.

Well. It had been that long since I’d had a head-bump, too. I got all choked up and tried not to let the volunteer coordinator see what an easy mark I was. I petted and loved and stroked and the more I did that, the more the black cat nestled into my shoulder. I started wishing for a chair, preferably a good, solid one with back support, because this was one solidly built cat.

In the end, it decided it had been held long enough, so back in the cage it went. I half-heartedly discussed the possibility of fostering cats and mentioned that I could deal with diabetic cats if it wasn’t too long-term. The coordinator became very excited and handed me flyers, brochures, and a business card. David came up and started to walk me out… I toook his arm and said in an undertone, “Get me out of here before I turn around and do something stupid.”

We talked some more on the way back, about how much harder it would be for us to commit to taking care of a dog (permanently). All I could think of was the feel of soft sable fur, and grey fur, and orange fur, and tortie fur – of the shining coats of the various cats I’d petted, cajoled, and held. We both agreed that we’d like a younger cat (not necessarily a kitten) and that it maybe could be soon.

So we’ll see. We’ll see.