Felines and Felons

I never knew that I was allergic to cats.  It could be that I've never really been around cats, because they freak me out.  I don't like the sneaky look in their eyes and how they are so...uh...quiet.  They just are creepy.  In fact, the only cat I have ever loved is Indiana Jones, our current cat, and I only love him because he acts more like a dog.  And Indiana doesn't make me sneeze. 

But....now, apparently, I've developed a feline allergy.  And I discovered it this morning when I was volunteering at the Humane Society.  What?  You volunteered?  Don't get too excited.  My choice would have been to volunteer to drop my kids off at the Humane Society and let them play with the animals while I voluntarily went to WalMart sans little people.  But since I chose to have my children just 10 years ago instead of 15...I had to stay with them.  Dadgum age restrictions. 

Keaton has been bugging me for a week to take him to "volunteer."  He really isn't a philanthropist at heart, and, in fact, was highly disappointed when he found out that no money was involved with volunteerism, but he decided that hanging out with a bunch of animals for a day sounded intriguing.

After putting him off for 4 days straight, I threw on some old nasty clothes this morning and trooped my troop up to the animal cages. 

I don't know how the Humane Society is set up where you live, but ours can only be described by the word "interesting."  And you can interpret that however you see fit.  Ahem.

We were ushered into a room with lots of little rooms full of cats.  Cats.  Cats.  Cats.  And more cats.  Just when I thought I had inventoried all of the sneaky suckers, more would appear.  And just FYI...it doesn't matter how many episodes of Animal Planet's Cats 101 you are forced to sit through....you still will never be prepared enough for that.many.cats.

After a bit, a teenage kid decided to so generously befriend us.  It only took me 3.4 seconds to realize that he was there volunteering his time, as well.  But his community service was that of the more mandatory nature, if you catch my drift.  My head was spinning with the stress of being trapped in a small contained room with twelvity hundred felines and an adolescent felon. 

And I'm pretty sure that both species can smell fear.

I sneaked a peek at my phone to check the time and decided that surely 8 minutes was plenty of volunteer time to put in for one day.  No need to over-do the philanthropy, right?

I began to usher the boys out into a more open space when we were met by a lady that I can only presume was somewhat in charge of the place.  I politely tried to make small talk with her about all the critters and asked how many cats were crashing at the Humane pad.  I was promptly informed that she had no idea and had not counted the cat herd in at least a month.

Ok.  Good to know.

And with that, I pinched Tate, made him cry, and told the cat lady that it was time for us to go because one of the cats had attacked my baby.

I kid.  I kid.

Kinda.

We did make a quick exit shortly after, but not before observing a very nice dog named Henry rip the head off of a squeaky toy rat, and another mandatory volunteer eat a popsicle that was covered in cat hair (I know..because he showed it to me. *shudder*).

On the way home, I asked Keaton what he thought about his, ahem, 14 minutes of volunteer experience. 

His response:  "Um...not exactly what I thought it would be."

Me neither, kid.  Me neither.

And now I need a Benedryl.

And perhaps a shower.


***This post is in no way degrading the work of the Humane Society.  Its mission and purpose is commendable and an important faction of our community.  Please consider adoption if your family is looking to add a pet.