Monday night, I came home from work with a nasty cold and a shitty attitude. When I have a nasty cold and a shitty attitude, I usually don’t like coming home and seeing my husband all lit up like a Christmas tree. Usually, when he’s all happy like that, all huggy and shit, I pry him off me with a crowbar, yell a bit, and go about making dinner.

Monday night, he was in unusually good spirits.

“Guess who came to visit?” he asked, grinning like a goddamn idiot and hopping blissfully from toe to toe.

I was in no mood for games.

“No, guess!!!” Katsumi gestured excitedly towards the bed. “Look who’s under there!!”

Hi. this is jake. he’s pretty big. So big, in fact, that I can’t pick him up. Nor would I have wanted to, that first night he was home. I’ve never had a pet, unless you count the salamanders I would catch in my backyard when i was eight, and as such I’ve never really learned the art of the kitty lift. Plus, he’d been living on the street for god knows how long, and when he scratched at his fur i swear to god, it was like dumptruck time at the gravel factory.

Apparently, Katsu had lured him in with a slice of ham (although, we’ve learned, jake’s not a big fan of deli meat), and it was Jake’s good fortune that I happened to me making chicken soup. He definitely liked the chicken, and seemed sad when it was gone.

I was grossed out. I made John go next door to neighbor whatshisname’s with the ugly sister for advice, catfood, and a litterbox. Sadly, the litterbox at Shaw’s was inadequate for a cat of Jake’s physical dimension, and he almost tipped the whole thing over trying to take a crap. A crap, mind you, that was about the size of my head.

I’d made it very clear to my husband that this animal was HIS problem. it was HIS idea to talk to our neighbor in the first place, HIS idea to bribe the thing with sliced ham, and HIS idea to allow him to SLEEP ON OUR FUTON. (ew!) I laid out a list of to-dos: grooming, shots, vet appointment, ball snipping.

On Tuesday, Jake got his first bath in who knows how long. And since he’d stopped smelling like an old shoe closet, I began to appreciate his better points.

I mean, that fur is fucking SOFT. And he kind of passes out on his back, which is pretty cute.

He likes you to rub his belly. Which I did, once convinced that he was free of communicable diseases. Plus, the cat shampoo kind of smells like this perfume I used to wear in 7th grade, which brings me back to a funny time. At work on Wednesday, I found myself googling things like “how to make your own cat food” and “feeding habits of Maine Coon”. I’ve got 2 books on order from Amazon about the care and grooming of this gargantuan beast.

So I guess, now, I have my first pet. ever.

I think I like him.