CHAPTER ONE (Cont’d) THE DECISION—SUPERSTITIONS AND BLACK CATS (8th installment of Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

CHAPTER ONE (Cont’d)

THE DECISION—SUPERSTITIONS AND BLACK CATS

(8^th installment of Scruggs and Samantha, by Mary de la Pena)

Even though the Rottweiler in cage 81 would have nothing to do with me, a wet nose pressed through the fence three cages down the aisle as I retreated to cage 83. Without thinking I backed up and gave his head a scratch between the eyes.  He closed his eyes and sighed deeply with contentment.

I looked a little more closely at the dog.  He was a rich golden color with white socks, a white blaze on his face, and white on his chest.  His tail looked like a scruffy plume of feathers, but he held it erect and proudly.  The face, though, was covered with wiry whiskers.  Momma may have been a golden retriever but daddy was a terrier.  I decided he was so ugly he was cute.

But I wasn’t there for a dog!  No, no, I was on a mission to find a cat.  No more dogs!

I left to find an attendant but ended up in the office.  The staff was harried and very busy tending to the normal business of the Humane Society.  There were people looking for lost dogs, as well as the people needing to come into compliance with the authorities after being cited for having unlicensed dogs.  Standing in line, I was pleased to learn several people in line with me were seeking to adopt an animal. 

“So are you adopting?” I asked the blonde woman standing in front of me.

“Oh, God, yes,” she answered.  “I read about the tragedy of so many animals left here because their owners lost their homes.”  Her eyes briefly teared as she continued, “I know they came from homes where people loved them, and I just can’t let them die here.”

I found my self-control beginning to break listening to her shaky voice.     

“The cards,” I asked, pointing to the cards she held in her hand.  “Are they for animals you’re taking?”

She looked at two blue cards and one pink one and then smiled.  “See, this blue card and this pink one?  The blue is a bulldog mix and the other is just a mutt.  I’m taking both of them.”

“The other?” I asked.

Again she smiled, “It belongs to a big ‘ole cat that looks like he never missed a meal.”

I couldn’t help but smile myself.  She was happy to enlarge her family by saving the lives of well-loved pets that were unintended side effects of the mortgage crisis created by the humans in their lives.

“How did you know which cats were available?” I asked.

“You need to ask the attendants,” she said.  “They will know which animals are available for adoption.”

With this new information, I quickly returned to the cattery to find an attendant. Of course, once again I passed through the building where the large dogs were kept.  Again I stopped at kennel 80 to check on the Rottweiler.  Again she studiously ignored me, even when I sat down on the concrete walkway, putting my feet into the gutter, trying to meet her at eye level.

Nothing.

However, the greeting from cage 83 was even more vigorous than before.  I was treated to pirouettes and graceful, arching leaps.  I passed quickly by, trying to ignore him the way the Rottie ignored me.

As I started to leave, a volunteer came through the building on her way to the cat ward. 

“You work here?” I asked the obvious, pointing to the identity tag on her blue scrubs.

“Yes,” was all she said.

“The cats,” I asked, pointing to the cages.  “Can I take the momma home with me?  You know this one with the kittens?”

The volunteer looked at the cage to which I was pointing and quickly averted her eyes.

“No, we are not fostering any more mothers with kittens,” she said.  “We have too many now and no homes for them to go to when they are weaned.”

“But the mothers?” I asked.

She gave me the death look.  Saying nothing, she turned to cage 107 that held the black kitten.  She ran her fingers over the bars; the kitten scampered up to her and then bolted to the back of the cage when the volunteer stretched her fingers inside to stroke her.

“See this kitten?” she asked.  “She’s the cutest one I have.”

I nodded, but stood next to the cage with the momma and babies.

“Not much chance of her getting adopted, though,” she continued.

“Why not?” I asked.

“’Cause she’s black,” the volunteer said, looking hard at the kitten.  “A lot of people who come to this shelter are afraid of black cats.  Stupid superstitions!”

“Crazy,” I said.  But it wasn’t the first time I had heard this statement.  It was echoed throughout all the adoption agencies.  Black cats were hard to place because people feared bad luck.

I joined the volunteer at the cage and also ran my fingers across the cage.  The kitten skipped up to me and then rubbed her face along the cage for me.

“Can I hold her?” I asked.

Shaking her head, the volunteer told me that it was against shelter policy to allow animals to “bond” with potential owners until the day they became available.

That was it!  I found my anger beginning to boil over.  The whole atmosphere of the pound was getting to me.  I bolted from the room; adoption was out of the question!