Kismet wasn't fate after all.

This is about my next divorce. From a cat. It's a first-world problem, so feel free to skip it, especially if you're not interested in cats anyway.

Kismet, despite her great beauty and softness, is a very anxious, twitchy being, terrified of children. She spends most of her time in a tube that's part of the cat-tree that formerly belonged to Taiga. She comes out for brief periods, to eat or to use the litter pan. Several times a day she comes up into my lap, purring and kneading her paws, but her tail switches madly the whole time she's in my lap and her limit is about two minutes so long as I don't move, sneeze, or breathe irregularly. She doesn't settle, doesn't rest, anywhere but in her tube. She doesn't sleep with me. She doesn't play. If anyone other than me comes into the apartment, she's under the furniture. She's always in a state of alarm when she's not asleep in her tube.

I've had several phone conversations with people from the shelter over the past month, and today I talked with the woman who is the head, explaining that I want to return Kismet. The woman was irritable. She says that I'm impatient and that my expectations are unrealistic; that I should have been prepared to wait six months for Kismet to settle in; that most cats don't like children, so I shouldn't have expected any cat to tolerate Bella's visits gladly. Further, she says, Kismet (they had another name for her) was in a foster home with other animals and did well there.

So naturally I question my whole life. Why don't I have a partner? Are my expectations too high? That's what the psychiatrist said when I was twenty and deeply depressed, six months after making a bad marriage to a much-older man I barely knew, who had swept me off my feet. I thought we should do things together, have common interests, treat each other with respect, and each carry our own load of responsibilities for income-earning and housework. In 1966, that was an unreasonable expectation, and my three years in that relationship were hell. I have never regretted that divorce, only that I waited so long to leave. Divorce can be a positive response to an unhealthy situation. I've had one more parting than falling-in-love, and so I find myself here, now, looking for an animal companion.

Last week, knowing I was probably going to take Kismet back, I considered getting a dog. I have known wonderful dogs and have lived with a couple who brightened my life wonderfully. But a wise friend talked me out of it. An apartment dog needs more exercise than I am ever likely to provide, and a dog needs more time and attention than I'm likely to give it, if I continue the things I already love doing. And it's more expensive.

So I will take Kismet back to the shelter, and I will take a little time to clear my head and my heart, and to clear her nervous energy out of my apartment. Then I will try again. I want an easy-going couch-potato kind of cat who will not mind living indoors and spending time alone while I'm out, who will purr and sit in my lap in the evenings, who will sleep beside me and maybe play with a toy now and then, and who will let Bella approach for occasional petting. I've had such cats in the past, and we were very happy with each other. It shouldn't be unrealistic to think it can happen again.