Then we went into the house. One of our friends, who is severely allergic to cats, instantly started sneezing and tearing up as soon as we came within ten feet of her. I didn't want to take the cat home because I had a pet parrot at the time, and I knew there would be trouble. But she asked me to think about it. The previous owners had asked her to leave food out for Ziggy, as I mentioned in the last post. She said she'd be back in three months for him. Fifteen months later, she still had not returned. She wanted to give him a home, and he'd wanted to come inside in the worst way, but she just couldn't let him in, since her own cat was so territorial.
Fast forward to Pentecost. They had a tradition where the ham bone from the Easter ham became the base of the split pea soup for Pentecost. Continuity, you know? I was there for dinner, and I'd made up my mind. Sixteen months was too long; Ziggy was coming home with me. Did I mention how filthy he was after all that time on his own? He jumped up in my arms and gave me another kitty hug and kisses. I was midly allergic too, but I didn't care. I realized we had fallen in love. There was no other word for it. He was mine, and I was his.
L called Ziggy's previous owner. There she was in Tacoma, in her parents's basement with her five kids. The last time myh friends had heard from her exhusband, he was calling from Boston, asking for advice on getting a job as a software developer. He never made it to Israel after all. L told her that a visitor (moi) had fallen in love with Ziggy and wanted to take him home. The exwife said, "Well, I hate to give him up. He was my husband's cat, and my husband was very attached to him."
L said, "I hate to tell you this, but after sixteen months, you have to realize he's not coming back."
The exwife said, "I know. Well, give me a few days. I have to think about it."