Last week, my friend posted this adorable face on her Facebook page, and I couldn’t resist.
Our cat of a dozen years had passed away in December, and we always knew we would get another one. We just didn’t know when.
But this little guy, a rescued stray, had something that put him over the edge — extra toes. He’s a Hemingway cat. I’ve wanted one since the first time I visited Key West. He’s also about three years old, calm, friendly and affectionate. A great combo for our family. We arranged to pick him up in a week.
And then I messed up.
I told my son we were getting! a! kitty! and he predictably got excited and wanted to know when. Um, next week, I told him.
Next week means nothing when you are 3.
After show-and-tell day, I tried.
“But I want the kitty to come home now!” he cried. And he cried some more. And every day since then, he has asked me when the kitty is coming, why we can’t get him now, where is the kitty, when is it and “but I want the kitty now!” Today after school he had one of those meltdowns where he just sinks to the floor in the middle of everything and cries.
I have learned my lesson. No more promises and building anticipation. Next announcement I have is going to be made the day of the event. Whew.
(But I can’t wait for kitty either)