After such a positive response from April’s meetup, the Fox Valley Computing Professionals is hosting an encore night of “Social Networking For Business” on May 11th at 6:30pm. We have a new location at 2000 South Batavia Rd, Geneva IL., and we don’t have to worry about librarians kicking us out at 9pm sharp anymore!

I’ll be presenting my “Facebook for Business” presentation again this month, and hopefully we’ll have more time for questions this time.

I’m going to toss the calm blogger persona out the window here because I need to get some feelings out. And, you know, Amy is a great spouse, a great listener for when I’m all emotional and rambly and talking in wild-eyed “what-ifs”, but I don’t want to overload her with all the emotional energy that comes with an ENFP like me.

Anyway, there’s this cat at the shelter, Steel. You might remember him from a previous post. When he first showed up, he was only about 6 months old, and had pretty worn pads, indicating he’d been stray for a few months. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is he was pretty much feral. But after interacting with myself, Amy, and the wonderful folks we volunteer with, and all the other cats at the shelter, he’s showing signs of improvement. He’s becoming a sweetheart, and he’s learning the difference between a play bite and a hard bite. The problem is, he still bites and claws when he doesn’t get his way, and I mean the “hard” kind. My hand was bloodied once again when I tried putting him back in his cage tonight.

But I don’t give a crap about that. Maybe it’s misplaced bravado, me trying to fit in a gender role that’s never really come naturally to me. Part of me rationalizes it to myself, telling myself that scars are nothing — scar tissue cremates as well as regular tissue. Maybe I’m just attracted to the misfits, the difficult cases, because I’ve always been a bit of a misfit myself. I don’t know.

And, man, did I want to give him a chance to find a place in our home. Amy didn’t want to adopt him until we could cut his nails, a practical concern as well as a sign that he could be held and poked and prodded without sending someone to the hospital. And, you know, fair enough. We can’t have a cat we can’t take care of, and I certainly wouldn’t want such a vicious cat attacking Margarita and Daisy with teeth and a full set of claws. Daisy’s a pretty tough cookie, but poor Margie’s first owners declawed her — she doesn’t have any defenses other than growling and hiding in the dark.

And, when we add a human child to our family in a few years, we need cats who can be around a young one.

So, the practical side of me completely and totally understands and agrees that there’s no place for Steel in our home. But, that doesn’t stop me from feeling like absolute shit tonight, under all the layers of smiles and jokes. Because deep down, I’m pissed, and I’m hating myself.

If I understand the situation correctly, one of the more active volunteers knows someone who deals with feral and “problem” cats. I don’t know what she does exactly, but she’s apparently interested in taking Steel and working with him, bringing out the affectionate cat I see and getting him to leave his feral/stray roots behind. I said goodbye to him on my way out of the shelter tonight, probably for the last time. He gave me kisses and purred in my ear, no more than half an hour after screaming and biting and clawing at me. He even licked my wounds. Deep down, he really is a good boy.

And, again, from a rational standpoint, this is what’s best. He needs someone who can take the time to mold him into a good kitty, and who has an environment conductive to that. He needs someone with training and experience dealing with cases like him. I get that, I really do. But I’ve bonded to this cat fiercely, to a level I don’t even understand. Here I go…rationally, this is so damn stupid, and I’m practically in tears right now over a cat that isn’t even mine. But, here’s a hint…when I’m acting calm & rational, it’s a well-rehearsed facade over a maelstrom of emotional energy.

I feel like a failure. I thought I could tame him, and I was wrong. And, I should have known better than to get so close. I’m usually so good about getting attached. I’ve let go of a lot of cats I was close to without any problems, even Noelle. This one’s different. I felt such jealousy the first time I heard someone else wanted him. I swallowed it down, but after all the time & energy I put into this cat, all the literal pain & suffering, for someone ELSE to just come along and take him away…

Shoot, I’m probably rebounding from Inigo, aren’t I? Steel reminds me a lot of Inigo. The first time we met, he drew blood from my hand, too, but he turned out to be a great cat. He just needed a chance, and I needed lots of band-aids while we taught him how to play nicely. It wasn’t overnight. I considered taking him back to the shelter at one point, because he would just walk up to me when I was down on the floor and chomp on my hand or even the side of my head. He just wanted to play, but he didn’t know how. Come to think of it, he was a stray too — they found him by the dumpster outside Cat Guardians. You know, he was supposed to be Amy’s cat, after Margie bonded so closely to me. He ended up hanging out on my computer desk all the time, and spending tons of time with me. Fortunately, Daisy has bonded with Amy, and even whines at her when it’s Saturday afternoon and it’s time to curl up on the couch with some chemistry homework or a Terry Pratchett book. One out of three cats ain’t bad.

I feel better already, just getting all this off my chest. I want what’s best for Steel, but this sucks. There will be other cats, of course, and if we decide to adopt a cat again, I’m sure there will be plenty of qualified candidates for the position. I just wish things worked out differently. I hope this woman who’s taking him sends news once in a while. I like hearing how all my little buddies are doing (hint, hint Noelle’s new owner…wherever you are).

And now, I really ought to get to bed, because Amy and the girls are waiting. They’re my first priority, and my first responsibility, and I can’t lose sight of that. All that cuddling means too much to me.

How do you get people interested in Scrabble? I have no idea, but this looks like a good start: