We did something stupid.
A couple of years back, my wife and I took the kids to the animal shelter in town on Free Cat Day and let them pick out a couple of kittens.
But that wasn’t the stupid thing. The cats came neutered and vaccinated, they’ve been good to the kids, do just fine living outside and aren’t half-bad at keeping the mice and voles in check. On balance, the cats have been a good thing.
While the kids were busy picking out our pound cats, a very friendly animal control employee sidled up and asked if we might be interested in signing up to be “fosters” for a theoretical litter of kittens that may or may not be orphaned and require extra care at some far-distant date. My wife and I exchanged raised-eyebrow shrugs that said, “Why not? They’ll probably never need us anyway,” and scribbled down our contact information on the proffered signup sheet.
You may think this is the big dumb thing. You would be wrong.
Sixteen days ago, the check came due. The phone call came, complete with a sob story about some abandoned, mud-covered, fly-swarmed kittens discovered out by the old radio station, a part of town widely known as the Wild West of feral cats. These babies need a home, someone kind and competent to take care of and love them, and would you be willing to save their adorable little lives, please?
Now, here’s the part where we did something stupid. As yet, we had made no promises and were under no obligation to do so. Even now, all we had to do was politely say something to the effect of, “I’m sorry, it’s just not going to work out for us right now.” If we had simply declined, life could continue peacefully, blissfully uninterrupted.
But is that the course of action we chose? Noooooooo.
An hour later, four blind, deaf, quarter-pound furballs had taken up residence in the corner of our kitchen. They are needy and demanding and absolutely insatiable. It’s not as if we’re calving out 300 first-calf heifers in the middle of a spring blizzard, or trying in vain to keep a scours outbreak confined to the little gray leppy we found in the southwest corner of the field. But these kittens certainly haven’t added any convenience to my life.
On the other hand, the kids love 'em, and though it goes against my better judgment to admit it, I guess I do too. There have probably been a few more smiles than normal in our home the last couple of weeks. Was opening our door to these feral feline foundlings a stupid decision? Undoubtedly. Was it the wrong one? I’m leaning toward no.
A neighbor who is nothing if not a quintessential cowboy and astute businessman once told me of raising cattle, “You know, this life’ll chew you up, spit you out and stomp you into the ground if you don’t love it. But if you do love it, there’s nothing better.”
You, of course, know that. It’s not always fun, and you’re bound to make a decision or two that’ll hurt one or all of your ego, heart and pocketbook. There are surely days you curse your stupid devotion to chasing your stupid dreams on this stupid land that you stupid love. But, stupid or not, here you are, and you and the world are likely better for it.
So go ahead; keep on doing stupid stuff. That’s the smart thing to do.
