The Cat Chose Me

I spent a week looking for a cat, got stood up twice, stood someone up once, and on Halloween an orange cat chose me.

Author: Koutian Wu; GitHub: ktwu01

The story starts on October 23. That day I submitted adoption inquiries for four cats on the Austin Pets Alive website, Mama Hobby, Mama Lobby, Toy Box, and Minnie Miracle. My AI assistant Muse wrote all four messages, and the questions were more thorough than a background check. Does she scratch furniture. Scratching post or sofa. How does she handle nail trims. Is she reliable with the litter box. My own criteria were simple, orange, affectionate, loves rubbing on people, does not destroy the home.

The first pair was out within a day. Mama Hobby and Mama Lobby are mother and daughter, and the foster was clear that they cannot be separated. Hobby is Lobby’s mom, and the one time they were apart for ten hours, the mother would not eat, drink, or move. Two cats is too much for me, so that thread closed politely.

Then came Minnie Miracle, whose foster simply vanished. The inquiry went out, no reply came back, the deadline we set passed, and still nothing. That is what being ghosted by a cat owner looks like. You never even learn what happened.

The closest call was Toy Box. Her foster, Ms. G, and I scheduled a Zoom meet for the evening of October 27.

Then I stood her up.

My teaching lab ran late that day, I answered her email a few minutes behind, she got on the call and waited, and I never made it in. We missed each other completely. And it gets worse. I went straight to a Texas Claude Builder Club meeting and forgot the cat entirely until after midnight. I wrote her an apology that night and we rescheduled for Thursday.

On Wednesday evening, Ms. G replied. Toy Box had been adopted by the other applicant, paperwork done.

Stand someone up, and the universe returns the favor. I have now verified this personally.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, I also passed the Austin Pets Alive foster screening, so in theory I could foster first. But the adoption search kept going. Muse refreshed the listings every day, and the cats kept disappearing. Pico de gato was gone. Athena and Lucille got adopted. Still standing were Cup Sippy, Chrysanthemum, and the new finds, Mama Chai, Buck, and Cactus Jack.

Then came October 31, Halloween. I went to Austin Animal Center alone, because my roommate D was busy that day. Muse’s final shortlist had four cats on it.

Sayuri, age two, with no personality notes on her page at all. A complete blind box.

Gelato, age one, very shy, slow to warm up, needs a quiet home and a lot of patience.

Bee, age one, affectionate beyond reason. She rubbed on me the whole time, tail straight up. Everything about her was right, except one line in her file. She tested positive for FIV, the feline immunodeficiency virus. Honestly, my wallet vetoed her on the spot. I cannot afford the medical bills that may come with that.

And the last one, Pumpkin Patch.

She was at the back of the cat room, tucked into a corner, not moving. I fed her a Churu, one of those squeeze-up treat tubes. She ate, and let me pet her while she ate. When she finished, she walked over on her own, rubbed her whole side against me, then went to the scratching post and sharpened her claws properly, without touching a single piece of furniture.

The last box on Muse’s screening checklist got checked by the cat herself.

At half past one that afternoon, I paid the 80 dollar adoption fee and took her home.

About the name. The shelter named her Pumpkin Patch. She is three years old, orange from head to tail, and I adopted her on Halloween. Orange, pumpkins, Halloween. Think about it. The name was made for this day, and changing a single letter would be a waste.

Getting her settled at home took one false start. I first put the litter box by the door, and with D and me walking back and forth cooking, she was too scared to come out of her corner. Then the food and litter I had ordered finally arrived, and it clicked. The spot was the problem, not the cat. I found her a quiet corner, prime feng shui real estate, and moved her carrier and litter box over. Only then did she come out on her own. She spent the afternoon walking every room except the kitchen. She visited D’s room. She ate dinner where I put her bowl. She drank the water after I stirred it with my finger so she could see the ripples.

The current population of this apartment is two humans, one Syrian hamster, and one orange cat. The hamster is named ASI, short for Artificial Super Intelligence. A cat and a mouse, living under one roof.

On behalf of ASI, I officially welcome Pumpkin Patch to the family.

And I have been promoted to Senior Litter Scooper.

One week of searching, stood up twice, stood someone up once. In the end I realized the whole idea of choosing a cat was an illusion. I did not choose her. She finished my Churu in the corner of a shelter, looked up at me, and chose me.