Bartering for Kittens

Apr 21, 2022

My cat is a Gemini.

He was born June 6. A nice lady I knew had a litter of kittens living under her house (before she kindly brought them inside her house for some tender loving care), and I asked if I might have one. She gave me the pick of the Gemini litter. I chose the only one that was entirely black. The woman told me it was a girl kitten. She and the kitten’s actual cat-mom raised the litter until they were weaned onto raw chipmunk meat and kibbles, and then told me I could come and get the little thing.

She didn’t ask for money for this kitten exchange, so I gave her a six pack of local beer and a giant pizza. The pizza was hot and fresh, because we met up to do this kitten exchange in the parking lot of a local pizza joint, jumping with summer tourists. A pleasantly bemused audience of pandemic-pizza-getters looked on as we traded kitten for pizza. Everyone was smiling. It was hot as the inside of a stone oven, outside that day.

Kitten didn’t seem to mind being held by my acquaintance on the 40-minute drive to the pizza joint, and he seemed at peace throughout the subsequent 40-minute drive back to our place, though we were brand new strangers. Kitten was happy on the drive to our place, our son cautiously peering and poking at him in his little cat backpack.

Girl kitten grew very obvious balls in the following months, and, because kittens have no modesty while grooming, we quickly noticed his tiny kitten penis. Kitten also didn’t mind being driven to the vet for his kittenhood visits. No howls of objection. Just pure Zen.

My cat is a Gemini.

I walk him on a leash.

He doesn’t sit on laps; he doesn’t consciously come to us for pets. He doesn’t sleep with us, but when he does, he keeps us awake all night long. He yells up the stairwell at us for food in the mornings, and he shouts obscenities both before and after he has pooped. He skitters around shoving 13 cat toys per week under our fridge, and he plays very readily with our son. My cat loves to be cradled in our arms on his back, like a baby. A human baby who wasn’t traded for pizza and beer.

My son sometimes asks us to adopt another child, so he can have a sibling. “Just buy one,” he says. “It won’t cost that much.” Even after we explain over and over again how adoption works – and how we are not going to go that route – he insists. “Just pay the money so I can have a sibling quicker!”

I’ll stick to bartering for kittens.