On not keeping up with the neighbors

My neighbor is the president of a local animal organization that advocates spaying and neutering of pets. She puts more time into rescuing strays than I'd ever imagine doing for an unpaid position, and so you can imagine the principle at work. She's a believer.

I am not a believer. I've loved any pets I've ever had, and been sad when they've left or died. But they were pets. The cats all played outside. They ate off-the-shelf pet food--none of that gourmet or organic stuff. It just wouldn't occur to me to spend the money. When Sidney got into a fight and I had to make a choice between spending $1,500 on eye surgery that would fix him or $150 on medicine that might, I chose the medicine. When I housesat for the neighbor I learned that she gives her cats bottled water. Ferchristssake.

The new cat is named Keeneye. A good name, with history in our family. There was a certain dog, back in my youth. We bought Keeneye at a pet shop down the street--a pet shop we went into to buy fish, because fish were about all I had the energy to take on. But we had to pass the kittens to get to the fish, and there was Keeneye, being squooshed into a corner by two zippy orange furballs, and the kids asked to hold him just to "give him some air," and that was the end of the fish.

The thing is, I know that this particular store takes terrible care of its animals. I know because the neighbor has told me. She'd told me once before never to buy a pet there, but to go instead to one of the shelters. Which is a good idea. And had I planned on buying a cat that day, I'd have gone to the shelter. But that day I was looking for fish, and Keeneye was sitting in the path, being uniquely kittenish. And p.s., it's none of her fricking business.

Nevertheless, I swore the kids to secrecy. Yes--I rehearsed them in a lie I intended to tell the neighbor: that we saw a sign for kittens in the next town over and we decided to bring one home. Horrible--rehearsing my kids to lie. But that's what I did--that's how much I dread having to deal with the neighbor, who still looks at me with That Look because, after all, had I not allowed Sidney outdoors he'd still be here, wouldn't he? Which only works because, of course, I feel such guilt about that. But not enough guilt to offset my distaste for litter boxes. (Except for kittens, who can't go outside. Yet.)

The kids ran down to the neighbor's house this afternoon, invited down for some birthday cake; her son turns 9 today. "Don't mention the cat," I called to them when they headed out. Five minutes later they're back and the neighbor's in tow. They told--the whole truth, including the purchase source. Could be they even told her that I'd rehearsed them in a lie. (When will I learn?) I know before anyone says a word: her mouth is all tight, and she talks to me about the care of kittens like I'm an imbecile. "Keep him warm. He's shaking--have you fed him today? Are you using organic litter? He'll get sick from the stuff you get at the grocery store. How old did they tell you he was? He looks too young to be adopted."

"I didn't adopt him. I bought him," I said, wondering silently about the return policy. And then, after she left, I barked at Maisie for spilling the beans. Nice, huh?

Not my shining hour.