The little stray I tried to cat-nap, but freaked out so much in the car I took her back to her own territory, wasn't there at the "agreed pick up point" either last week or today. "Mombala", as I named her, obviously belonged to someone, or maybe she didn't want to be with me. Either way, my maternal urges are still not satiated.

On a whim, I convinced Joel that a trip to the local RSPCA was in order. I was very surprised at the Pound. There were plenty of dogs there, but none of them were available for adoption. There were only two puppies available, but not for some time as they had to mature enough to be de-sexed. They were cute, and one particularly like Joel, but neither seemed quite right for me.

There were only two felines in the whole place. One black and white tuxedo kitten, which was adopted while we were there, and a tabby cat. The tabby cat refused to have anything whatsoever to do with either me or Joel, so he obviously wasn't "our" cat either.

By reading this newsgroup, I would have thought that there would have been heaps of strays available for immediate adoption, but I was exceptionally surprised. I live in the seventh largest city in Australia, and there were barely any animals to adopt, certainly none that were for me. I particularly like one dog, but was not only told that he was not yet ready for adoption, but they wouldn't adopt him out anyway due to very aggressive nature. In the hour I sat outside his cage and played with him through the wire, he showed absolutely no sign of aggression. He seemed to be "our" dog, and I was quite certain that the "aggression" he had shown was to an abusive ex-owner. He had the classic reaction of "ducking" when I "raised my hand" at him, but was otherwise the friendliest dog you'd be likely to meet. He barked like mad and whined pathetically when we left. I'll never see him again either. I had tears in my eyes while walking out, and it was all I could do not to collapse in another sobbing heap once we got to the car.

Maybe Shmoggleberry knows what we are up to, and has put a kitty curse on us so that he will remain our sole object of affection. Either that, or Wollongong doesn't really have a stray animal problem. I'd love to save a critter from the death-sentence, but it looks like we may have to actually buy one from either a breeder or (ack!) a pet store. Maybe there are other higher powers at work, and we are being made to wait (impatiently) for a "special pet". Perhaps what I'm really after is my own child, but my conscious mind hasn't come to terms with that responsibility yet. I don't know what it is that's stopping us from finding another pet, but I'm sure Shmoggleberry thinks it all for the best. I guess theres not "room for two" on my lap.

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
August 15, 1999