“This one reminds me of … The LIGER!” I said pointing to the profile on the Humane Society webpage.

“Are we really going to get a cat?” 00seung’s eyes shone.

“This weekend, if they’ve got this cat, we’re bringing it home.  We can’t tell ummah (mom) until we have the cat.”

“Heheh, ummah’s going to be mad,” my eight-year old grinned.

The conspiracy began there. It wasn’t my idea, really.  I mean, I have been kind of planting the idea in the kids’ heads for a year or so but it was more like wishful thinking.  Then one night while tucking in my little girl, she said, “Can we go to the Humane Society this weekend?”

I had told her about animal shelters and rescues several months ago.  How sometimes homeless animals had to be “put to sleep” if no one ever claimed them.  It was difficult for her to understand and difficult for me to explain but I felt I had to.  Life is bound by harsh and cold practicality.  Love and warmth are the parts you have to bring yourself.  [Caveat: Since then I've read that the Michigan Humane Society does not exterminate animals due to overcrowding.]

The morning of Operation: Tawny Kitaen (’80s reference to the max), I was about to discuss the plans and contingencies when my responsible and considerate 9-year old boy, 5un 5u, expressed his reservations about going against ummah’s wishes.

“Maybe it’s too soon. What if we go on vacation, who will take care of the cat?”

“We have neighbors or grandma. We’re ready for a new cat.  Don’t worry, okay?

“Now look.  Plan A is we try to distract ummah from coming with us because she’ll just say no.”

“How are we going to do that?” 00seung whispered dramatically, enjoying the subterfuge.  Her older brother, not so much.

“We’ll say it’s a long trip and maybe she can have some time to herself while we’re gone.  Now if she comes with us, we go to Plan B: we have to convince her there to let us get a cat.”

“We should let her play with one!” 00seung added.

“Good. Physical and emotional bonding. I like it,” I confirmed.

“What if ummah still won’t let us get a cat?” my little girl asked.

“That’s Plan C.  Then we don’t get it.  Next week, when ummah’s at work, I go back by myself and get our cat then.  One way or another, we are adopting a cat.”

00seung and I smiled.  5un 5u, who normally loves a well-organized battle plan (of the Halo or Lego variety), remained conspicuously quiet.

PLAN A

“So, I’m going to take the kids to the animal shelter now.  What are you going to be doing while we’re gone?” I asked.

“I’m going with you,” Amy said.

“… I thought 00seung said you were staying home,” I said as I shot a glance at my little misinformant.

“You said you were staying home, ummah!” 00seung said, far too obviously.

“I’m going with you to make sure you don’t buy the place out.  Why can’t I go?”

“Alright, let’s go,” I said with a cocked eyebrow directed at my little girl.

PLAN B

“He’s not here!” 00seung said in the pet cage room.

“Who isn’t?” 5un 5u asked.

“Archer.  The cat we wanted,” she answered with Her Angry Face.

“The cat we wanted to pet,” I corrected.

Archer was a brown and black striped tabby we saw online and from the personality description and picture, he was practically a clone of … The LIGER! (rest in peace).  He was five years old, which is another reason I wanted him.  No one adopts cats that old.  After having a 20-year old cat, that was a well-trained youngster to us.  We found out from the desk that someone indeed had adopted Archer.  I was happy that he was adopted and disappointed that it couldn’t be me.

We picked out another tabby to play with.  It wasn’t all that friendly and tended to hide in the corner or under chairs too much.  Then one of the workers suggested a kitten that they just got.   I wasn’t planning on getting a kitten but it got along great with the kids, playing, zipping back and forth, letting them pick him up.

After a while in the play room, I finally said,

“Do you guys like this one?  Are we ready?”

“Ready for what?” Amy asked.

“Nothing.  I’ll just tell the desk we’re leaving.”

A few minutes later I came back, the kids were watching me expectantly.

“Alright, let’s go,” Amy said.

“We have to wait for a bit.”

“Why?”

“We, uh… just adopted this kitten.”

“… Sigh.”

And to my utter amazement, that was it.

On the drive home, I opened the lid of the box while the kids and Amy (driving) made a fuss as if it belonged to Pandora herself.  I put my hand in.  The box purred the whole way home.

I was surprised my wife didn’t put up more resistance since she had declared many times in the past that another cat was not an option.  “Did you know we were going there to adopt a cat?” I asked her later.

“No,” she said, “but you better clean up after him every day and we aren’t getting another one.”

Then I remembered she had a weakness for kittens, puppies, and little babies.  The two years and up versions, not so much though.

The shelter had named him Herbie.  Seriously, Herbie.  Like the car, or some cartoon mascot, or a pug-nosed dog.  Something with a little more respect and originality would be needed.   Amy had jokingly suggested “Channel 4″ as a name, since our inquisitive kitten was always putting its nose in someone’s business.  I still liked the name Archer a lot, especially the way the kids said it, “Archuh.”  It was different and fitting for a wizard’s familiar as I used to think of my old cat, so we called him that for a while.

I looked up Korean words for “second chance” but none of them sounded right for a name.  Ever since my first cat, … The LIGER! died, I’ve thought that I could have been nicer to him, especially in the beginning.  I could have loved him more.  I just couldn’t see it until it was too late; love’s cliche.  It was just a cat.  But love doesn’t care about that and death doesn’t care about that.  Although, I honestly think they conspire together, like a playful child and a scheming adult and it’s always the same plan.  To give and to take away and the rest you have to fill in yourself.  In most cases, like when my dad died, you don’t get a second chance, but I still felt that maybe I could this time.  No, I would.

That’s been my wish since he died, to get one more chance.  So I’ll name him, Sowon.  My “wish.”

 
[NOTE:  I've put numbers in for the kids' names to make them less searchable in the future.  In 00seung, zero=O.  In 5un 5u, the 5 is an S.  Also, I've disabled comments lately.  Thank you for reading.]