Yesterday I went to the animal shelter. This is not the kind of place I regularly frequent, simply because it is too sad, but I was in the area and stopped by to clear up a misunderstanding about a non-existent dog they thought we'd failed to license and, well, there were kitties upstairs and I went and saw them.

As soon as you walk into one of the rooms you are greeted by meows from various corners, pleading eyes staring from behind cage bars, questing paws reaching out through the metal to try to touch you. Some of the cats are curled up asleep; some cower shaking as far back as they can and hiss if you look at them. Most are glad for the attention; some beg for it.

I was in one room going from cage to cage when two shelter workers rolled a block of cages in and went to leave. I stopped them and asked if I could open the cage doors; they said yes, but to be careful with some of these cats because they'd all, except three, just been brought in from one house and hadn't become acclimatized to the facility yet. My mouth dropped open. "One house?" I repeated incredulously. The worker nodded. "It's a lot more common than you think."

So that was what the "O/S" checked on all of these cage cards indicated. I went back to the cats with a new respect for what they'd been through.

It couldn't help but make me think of this passage in Romans 8:

The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. (Romans 8:19-22)

Cats weren't meant to live in cages. They weren't meant to have to be removed from homes who hoard them, or people who abuse them, or streets where they face constant threats and hard living. Animal shelters are a sign of the Fall. Even cats have to suffer the frustration that creation has been subjected to as a result of man's sin.

I can't wait for the day when that is no more. I can't wait for the day when animals, and this earth, don't have to suffer. I can't wait for the day when they are liberated, along with us, from the curse. I can't wait for the day when animal shelters, along with other sad but necessarily consequences of sin, are no more. I can't wait for the day when cats and dogs and people live in freedom.

Today I got lots of kitty supplies, for free. I walked deep downtown to a building where a couple who foster for the Annex Cat Rescue live, and was met in the lobby by the husband, a pleasant guy called Joel. He took me down to their basement locker, which to my delight was chock-full of all sorts of kitty supplies, mine for the taking.

I walked away with a litterbox, litter scoop, scratching post, food and water dishes (cleverly built into a plastic mat to catch any mess), and cool soft-shell carrying bag for when (if) I have to take her to the vet.

Score!

There are still a few things I have to buy, but those are the main ones and a big financial help.

Afterward I went down to the Eaton Centre to check on a pair of boots I'd tried on a couple of weeks ago. They're now on sale at 50% off, so I figured I'd better grab them before they go. I was waited on by an exceedingly bored gay Asian guy with an affected demeanour that projected, "I don't want to have to talk to you any more than necessary."

While he was ringing up my sale, I suddenly remembered the exceedingly unfriendly and uncommunicative gay Asian guy who'd waited on me in that same store two years ago when I bought my previous pair of winter boots. In a moment of epiphany, I wondered if it was the same guy. And realized it probably was. Life's funny that way.

A few weeks ago, I went to the Toronto Humane Society with the intention of getting a cat. I checked them all out, wrote down the numbers of the ones I liked, and returned home intending to go back and choose one.

However, I started to think about the realities of cat ownership, and it tempered my excitement somewhat. Owning a pet is a big commitment. You are pledging to take care of this animal for the rest of its life, including any medical bills it might incur.

I'm realized I'm just not up for that. For one thing, my life is still unsettled enough that I'm not comfortable taking on the life-long care of a furry dependent. For another, my income is not steady or large enough to make me optimistic about paying vet bills.

So I decided I would volunteer at the Humane Society instead. Then I happened to see a flier for the Annex Cat Rescue, another organization in Toronto that cares for homeless kitties.

Somewhere, my desire to own a cat morphed into a desire to foster one. Fostering works like this: you keep the cat and care for it until someone adopts it. The organization pays medical bills and you cover food and litter. Potential adoptees, after being screened by the organization, visit the cat, and you assess them. You have final say about who the cat goes to.

This seemed like a much better deal to me.

So after sending some email messages and leaving some voicemails, I got a call from a very pleasant lady named Sharon, the foster coordinator for ACR. We had a lovely chat in which she told me all about my potential foster, an "alpha female" named Emerald with "dominance issues". Apparently this means that she hisses and taps you with her paw when you do something she doesn't like. I confess I laughed. I said I thought I could handle this.

Sharon directed me to the online application form. After I'd completed it, she informed me that a "home inspector" would be dropping by to assess the house. She also said that I could visit Emerald at the vet where she is currently boarding, so last night, I did.

Emerald turned out to be a small, longish-haired black cat, who crouched in the back of her cage uncertainly till the vet tech opened the door and I extended my hand to her. She crept forward slowly, sniffed it, I started stroking her, and we were in business. She seemed to enjoy the attention, and eventually began purring.

We were doing fine until I pulled her out and set her on my lap. At that point, loud and continuous muttering and hissing ensued, which increased in volume and intensity as she realized she wasn't being put down. I think part of the problem was that from this vantage point, she could see her next-door neighbour, a handsome white cat, with whom she seemed to have a problem. I held her for a bit while the complaining went on, then finally gently set her back into the cage. The vocalizing didn't stop. She had an awful lot to say, all of it negative. I don't really blame her in that situation.

But I loved her anyway. And today, I had the home inspection visit from a very nice girl called Michelle. She said her report would be positive, so, barring any complications, by the end of this week I may have my kitty!

Well, not my kitty. I need to keep in mind that she's only in my care until she gets adopted. Which hopefully, for her sake, will be soon. However, it will be awfully nice to have a cat around for the first time in years.