Oh. The Drama.

While we were gone to Canada and Jerry was gone to Utah for the Fourth, he had a couple of his "buddies" (read: business partners) enlisted to take care of Tigger. Seemed like a good deal. One would come in the morning, let the cat in, make sure it had food water, check the kitty litter, pet the cat a little. The other would come in the evening, pet the cat, let it out if he wanted, make sure the cat had fresh water. Well, there was one little snag. When the morning guy came a few days into the rotation, Tigger wasn't waiting patiently at the door as he usually was. On the inside or outside. So he started setting food and water out on our back porch, hoping to encourage Tigger to stick around. *side note* We live in an area that is quickly being developed by medical buildings and parking lots; taking over "natural areas" that any number of wild animals have inhabitated for at least as long as I've lived here. With the development of these properties and loss of habitat, the creatures are moving into adjacent neighborhoods. Namely mine. So if food is left out on the porch, there is no saying WHAT is eating it. Certainly not a stray cat.
Anyway, long story short, Tigger had still not returned by the time Jerry got home from Utah. So he started scouring the countryside (alright! the area okay?), calling all the pet shelters in a 20 mile radius every two days, putting up signs, hoping to find this cat that the kids (especially Ms. R) adored before we returned from Canada. No dice.
I had to break the news to Ms. R before we returned home because I didn't want to get here, have her running inside with the expectations of seeing her beloved cat and have to tell her then. Tears, wailing, sobs. That night she even whimpered in her sleep. It was wretched. Her daddy, being a daddy, promised her we'd get a new one as soon as she got home. Guilt is a mean motivator.
So, the day we return from Canada (there were two LONG flight delays and we didn't get into Dallas till 2am) Ms. R is already riding me, "Are we going to look at cats?", "When are we going to look at new cats?", "Are the new cats waiting for us?" I took the kids to a few shelters that day, then Jerry and I left the kids with him parents for the weekend and had a relaxing weekend doing ... nothing. That's another story altogether.
We get home Sunday afternoon to Ms. R's immediate question, "Are we going to go get our cat now?" *sigh*
We head over to a Pet Smart where they are hosting a local cat rescue adoption. What do my kids immediately pick out? Another orange tabby of course. What's his name? Tigger. Or Milo. Or Myno. Or Stupid Cat. Depends on who you ask, when.
I'd post a picture but I seem to have lost the memory stick for my camera. Don't tell Jerry.