January is usually a slow time at the SPCA, but it took me three visits and near-constant reloading of the SFSPCA website to find an all-black male kitten that J and I could adopt. Not a lot of kittens are born in the middle of winter, even the mild California kind. Usually this wouldn't be a problem, because everyone adopts pets over Christmas and in January there is almost no turnover at all, but the SFSPCA has seen an unusual spike in adoptions this January, especially around the Presidential inauguration. On one Saturday alone, the nice lady at the desk tells, they adopted out 18 dogs. When the world hurtles towards fascism, everybody wants to go home and cuddle a pet.
The new kitten's name is Edison Carter (broadcasting live and direct), because I cannot resist a Max Headroom reference and also because now my cats are named Edison and Tesla. Edison is two months old, which means that he fits in the palm of my hand. Let it be known that I did not choose this cat. I just stood in the his little kitten condo and he introduced himself to me running up my arm, perching on my shoulder, and licking my neck.
Eddy's foster notes say, "He loves everybody!" So far, this appears to be true. Within 24 hours, my tiny new kitten and my 8 month-old behemoth (seriously, he is 13 lbs) were rolling around on the floor together and trying to eat each other's faces off. By the third day, I woke up to discover that I was spooning the big cat, who was spooning the little cat. We have achieved domestic bliss.
So while Twitter is a hellmouth, spewing forth fresh horrors from the Trump administration, and I spend all of my time trying to work out what people should do with their devices at borders and at protests, at least I can come home and kittens (large and small) will run up to me and lick my face. I'm not about to tell you that everything is going to be okay, but at least I can tell you that oxytocin is the drug that's going to get me through the next four years.