So the above has happened at our house. After having gone 14 years with the knowledge we would never have a pet because of my wife’s allergies and lack of every having one, we got a cat. Then we got another. Both are from shelters.
You see, our daughter had become obsessed with cats. Like really obsessed. Talked about them constantly. My daughter is also in the gifted program at school. Her IQ is like just below Evil Mad Scientist. And so we got her an encyclopedia of cats which she read from cover to cover and memorized and can now tell us all the different breeds and traits from memory. If you even need to know about the Maine Coon, I have the girl for you.
Then she would just sit at the computer looking at the local shelter’s cats. She would just sit there staring longingly, or sometimes call us over to tell us how cute the kittens were. Then we took her to the shelter, just to look. At some point along the lines, my wife broke down and we got the first cat.
And then we were visiting my wife’s family and her childhood friend was fostering a bunch of kittens. We were just going over to look. But there was this little orange poof of a cat there. So cute. And then we had two cats.
And our lives are improved by it, I think. They add a bit of independent happiness to our lives and they entertain each other well enough. Things are good. We are happy.
But the poop. The poop I could do without.