wilko

When your wife says "I probably shouldn't show you this," you know it's something you want to see. In this case it was a social media post from CoonAlley, a cat breeder in southern New Jersey. She had two retired female Maine Coons that she was looking to rehome.

Ever since Wiglaf disappeared some years (six?) ago, I've wanted another cat. One of my own. Each of the kids has a cat.* But I haven't had my own since Wiggy.

Ethan has taken every opportunity to push me to get a cat. When Sharon's classmate enlisted her to help rehome a stray, Ethan wanted me to adopt it. When our breeder told Sharon there was a litter she could pick from, Ethan urged me to ask about getting one of them for myself. Though I have been repeatedly tempted, I have resisted the urge.

But this time it just seemed right. Or not. I didn't really want to get another cat right now. But I had to look. And, damn, those two cats were beautiful. One in particular, a four-year-old named Fancy, caught my attention.

Some text messages followed. And a phone call. I told CoonAlley that the breeder at The Brewery (another Cattery in New Jersey) would vouch for me. And so, I spent Thursday taking a six hour round trip drive to pick up a used cat.

I need to admit that I wasn't crazy about the name Fancy, so I had to rename her. I gave plenty of consideration to lots of candidates. These included such possibilities as Brilleaux, 20% Zdarma, Lotsalegs, Fek'lhr and Brisket. But somehow Wilko** just seemed right.

Right now, Wilko is not a happy girl. Pulled from her home and the people and cats she has known, she was taken to a new house with people and cats she doesn't know. We've been trying to give her space, but slowly ease her into the family.

When we got her home she didn't want to leave the carrier. So she spent most of last night in the back of the carrier, in my bedroom. By this morning she had moved, and had positioned herself in a corner, under an armoir. She spent most of the day in the office near me, but cowering under the desk. She's a little more relaxed by now, but still not happy. She seems to like getting stroked under the chin, she let me pull the gunk out of the corners of her eyes and sometimes as I brush her she looks up with an almost-not-unhappy look in her eye. It'll take some more time, but I think she'll get used to us.

In the meantime, world, say hello to Wilko.

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*Technically, Sharon doesn't; her cat, Cream, died last year. But we've been in touch with a breeder and Sharon will be brining home her next cat, Copic, next month.

**After Wilko Johnson, the original guitarist for one of my all-time favorite bands, Dr. Feelgood.