My New Kitten Ate My Bank Account

What I’ve spent on my adopted kitten, one week in.

$45: Cat carrier, kitten food, treats (which he refused), and a crinkly confetti toy.

$35: Taxi back from Queens to try and save the new kitten (formerly named Taco) the anxiety of a subway ride. It didn’t work.

$2: Small jars of Gerber’s Chicken and Gravy Step 2 baby food, also known as “kitten crack.” In my ongoing, desperate attempts to bond with the kitten (now named Tim Riggins, because obviously), I dip my fingers in the food and feed it to him while clutching him to my chest so he can feel my heartbeat and perhaps be fooled into believing that I am both a cat and his mother.

$6 (and my dignity): Long-distance charges to Canada when I convinced myself I had lost the kitten and called my parents in hysterics. I spent 8 hours persuaded the kitten had fallen out one of my (screened) windows; sneaked out my (closed) door, or crawled through a (non-existent) hole in my wall. I wandered the neighborhood crying and softly whimpering, “Tim Riggins? Tim Riggins?” (Spoiler alert: He was under my kitchen shelf.)

$20: Rough lost cost of two dirty gym shirts I put in the closet to make a cozy bed for him so that he could imprint on my smell and seriously, I have become one of those people.

$9: Antihistamines. I’m allergic to cats.

$50: Mid-century modern scratch pad.

$109: First vet visit, where I learned that Tim Riggins may only have one testicle. “I’ll just have to go rooting around for his other ball,” the vet said cheerily.

One week total: $276

 

Meghan Nesmith lives in NYC, has a blog.

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