Beginnings

                We are not off to a good start. 

                I adopted Tango, a six-month-old orange tabby, from ARF (Animal Rescue Foundation) Monday afternoon.  Having visited her many times in the preceding month, I assumed she would immediately adapt to her new home—or at least that she would find comfort in me holding her.  Wrong.

                She was unhappy during the twenty-minute drive home, though she voiced her complaints in a rather quiet voice. I brought her into my house and set the carrier on the floor in my office, where I have prepared a feeding area and a litter box as well as a place to look out the window.  But I was not prepared for her speedy escape the second I opened the carrier door.  She zoomed into the small space between desk and filing cabinet, and then slithered her way under the desk drawers.  She would not be beckoned out by a choice salmon kitty treat.  Now she hides under a cabinet. She will not be moved.

                I am unhappy, having imagined an afternoon and evening cuddling my kitten.  I know that I simply need to give her time to adjust to the shock of new surroundings.  Perhaps after I go to bed (and close my door), she will prowl around and discover the amenities of home:  the scratching pole, the cozy sleeping spots I have imagined her napping in, the catnip mice.  Maybe she will even jump up on my dining room table and clear it of the miscellaneous papers scattered on its surface.  Hopefully she will use the litter box, drink her water, and eat some cat food.

                So, after I lie down on the floor one more time to see and talk to her in a reassuring voice, I will make my retreat.  Well, anyway, that’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last six hours of checking on her (finding her was the hard part).