There's this cat that was born in our barn (wait, is this the Christmas story, soul-style?). He was a kitten when he was here, and we called him Yoda cause he had big ears. A lady came to adopt one of our other kittens, one of the "normal" looking ones, with regular ears and purry attitudes. She was an off-beat lady herself, she was a lady who didn't drive on freeways in L.A., so it took her like, 3 days to get here from Burbank.
Anyway, she came to our outdoor barn with the barn doors flung wide open, and she sat down and petted the nice, friendly, normal kitty she had requested, the cute one, who purred and rubbed up against her, and played with the string. She was our prettiest of the 5 kittens, with little white paws and a white tummy.
But the lady kept sort of looking at Yoda, the one who was waging a battle on his own with a hanging piece of yarn in the cobwebby corner. He kept zooming at it, flinging his whole body at it. Taking it DOWN, man-cat style. He was never the most social kitty, he was always looking for an adventure. But as we talked, the longer she sat there, Yoda grew interested in her, and once the yarn danger was taken care of, he sidled over and actually just sat beside her. Like they were in a bar and had just ordered chips. He was the weirdest of all our kitties, and of course, our favorite.
Perfect Kitten was cleaning her paws nearby, getting ready to go home for sure with her sure thing new owner whom she had assumed was here to get her.
But the lady sat for a long time with Yoda next to her. And then she said, "I'll take this one." No one was more surprised than us, and Yoda. But she couldn't come back to get him til after July 4th. When he'd be for sure, uglier, and less adoptable. What if she didn't come back?
After July 4th, she showed up. Which was a good thing, because Yoda had started hanging out alot in the woodpile, and I saw his future as the Woodpile Cat that skittered away when anyone came close, a loner cat who wore tattered gloves and built trashcan fires to keep his paws warm at night.
Yoda went to live with Ashley, who had been in children's programming for 12 years. (Me too, I said, and pointed out my three kids.) We didn't wonder why she had wanted Yoda. We knew people came looking for a normal and pretty kitty, just like she did. She just happened to be thoughtful, and sit long enough to see that a kitty without any remarkable selling features was the best one. Sometimes the perfect match happens, even when you're looking for something else.
Yoda became Milo, who lives indoors and sleeps on the bed. Yoda became Milo who got all his vaccines and then boarded a plane for Paris where his owner had a job. Milo is now, still, an adored Parisian kitty, dining on caviar, making smalltalk with dinner guests and twitching his tail contentedly on a balcony overlooking the Louvre. We still get pictures of him. Of course, it turns out he's the most wonderful cat.
A cat born in our barn lives in Paris. Adopted by a girl who only takes the slow way to get places. I like that.
