You may recall our problematic calico from an earlier post. Since that time I have been searching for someplace else to put her, someplace that would make both her and us happier, without success. After trying a couple of places privately, talking to the vet, and finally to FAIR (where she came from), they suggested the Humane Society’s indoor/outdoor cat adoption program. Today I finally set aside the time to take her there.

The cat’s name is Satine, French for “satiny”. But it’s hard to avoid the comparison with “Satan” and “Shaitan”. (Definition of shaitan: an evilly disposed, vicious, or cunning animal.) I took her alone. The kids didn’t care to come along and didn’t really care to bid her farewell either. Why would they? She hadn’t made friends with either of them, nor with me or my wife, in the year since we’ve had her.

I’ve never given up a pet for adoption before. As I drove toward our destination with Satine mewing in her cardboard travel box, I experienced an emotional reflex, for lack of a better term: I discovered that I was wanting to mentally review our happy times together, since we wouldn’t be seeing each other again. And as I went to compile this little scrapbook of sentiment, I discovered to my mild surprise that there wasn’t any material for it. There was nothing to miss.

The people at the Humane Society were excellent; I filled out paperwork detailing everything I knew about her and her behavior, and my recommendation that she be placed somewhere where she can hunt outside. Then I turned to bid Satine goodbye and tried to think of what to say. “See you soon”? No. “I’ll miss you”? No.

“Good luck,” I finally said, and meant it.