Fate. Destiny. The word Kismet is the Turkish word to describe something I don’t normally lend much weight to. Sometimes things happen, though. A completely random series of events that leads to something wonderful and there’s no better way to describe it.
Yesterday started off kind of shitty. I was already in a bad mood, thanks to the Sunday dinner with family that ended in a bullying event by an asshole uncle-in-law that left me with back spasms, followed by a shredded tire on the borrowed truck driven by my brother-in-law that should never have been driven in the condition it was in.
I went out for a few hours, hoping to get some editing done, but I was mad. Stewing, you know? I got home and just about lost my shit. Our bedroom has been refuge to just about everything since last year’s basement flood, not to mention my feather pillows have gone beyond their best use by date. Apparently, when I get really angry I morph into Mega Maid. I didn’t just clean. Neigh. I cleansed. With holy fire. And lo, it was righteous.
I emerged, several hours later and popped the last two decongestants. Sinus was plugged up, yo. The drug store was closing in 20 minutes, but it was also Canadian Thanksgiving so I realized it was a crapshoot but we’re kind of dependent on the goo-remover so I put on pants and Andrea dutifully followed along to keep me from making a run for the border. The drug store, as I feared, was closed. Uptown it was.
We live in a small town, but the grocery store started staying open 24⁄7 recently. As we walked by the accompanying greenhouse filled with bales of hay and piles of pumpkins, something moved out of the darkness towards us. A young cat, not in the least bit skittish, but curious. Andrea picked it up and her first words were, “Don’t worry, we’ll take it to the shelter in the morning.”
I do our shopping, and call ahead to have the dogs put outside before we get home. We let the kitty, a girl, explore a little bit while we figure out logistics for the night. We need to segregate, and our bedroom makes the most sense. Hey, lucky for us it’s just been cleaned. Fresh litter, a little bit of food and water, and she’s acclimating nicely.
Andrea and I settle in for bed. It takes me a while to doze off with this tiny fuzzball exploring the dark world around us but I finally do. I wake up a few hours later with her as limp as a warm sock, stretched out across my throat. Purring. She wakes, and we spent the next couple hours playing, until she curls up again and nods off.
So, I’d like to introduce you to Kismet. We’re not sure how old she is yet but she’s the most charming little gal. She likes to cuddle and lick fingers. We’ll take a trip to the vet soon to make sure no one else is missing her (I’ve already checked for missing signs near where we found her). Otherwise, I think she’s found herself a nice place to call home, and at a very appropriate moment.