The day before Mother's Day, we went shopping. I was looking at aquarium stands at the pet store. And I got sucked into falling in love with a kitten. And I took the little guy home. I mean, really, look at him!
What I had totally overlooked was that I would now have 3 cats, and this one is a long hair. Long hair. I hate brushing cats. And scooping the litter box. What on earth was I thinking?! So all weekend I thought about the pros and cons and finally decided Sunday night to take him back to the store.
It. was. heartbreaking.
Patrick had to be pulled out of school because he was sobbing and practically hyperventilating. I was sobbing when I left work to take the kitty back.
Patrick spent the day with my friend as she was off work for the day. She took him to a park, where I met them after I got off work. We were walking back to her house when Patrick started skipping and said he couldn't wait to get home to see the kitten.
Wha?
Um, Patrick, you do remember why you're with Miss D., right?
...how could he have forgotten this?
So of course, the rest of the walk back he was dragging his feet and barely moving. Then he refused to get out of the car at home. I counted all the way to TWO before he moved. When he went into his room to change into his baseball uniform, he jerked on the curtains and bent the brackets. He was disappointed that I stopped him before he could break it. He said that he was so mad he wanted to hurt someone. (That's not typical for him, thank goodness!) He also, at some point, started biting and/or sucking on his arms just above the wrist. He has marks several days later. This especially worries me because I think ahead to a teenager who's raging and self-mutilates.
The rest of the evening was fairly steady. He hit a double and a single at baseball so he was feeling pretty good. When we got home later, he didn't say anything about the kitten.
I, on the other hand, felt the loss the whole evening.
I messed up.
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