I am not a cat person

The end of school was to be celebrated by the memorial day weekend away with friends up the central coast of California.  All the school crazies ended, and I was going to sew at my leisure, bake some traveling treats, pack up my house in a stress-free fashion, and enjoy the long weekend.

Then this happened:

Tentative names were Buddy, Rover, and Twinkle

My husband found her in our front yard one night when he went to get the mail.  She started playing with the girls, then I realized it was hungry and thus began the downward spiral into cat ownership.

Needless to say my house did not get cleaned, nor did I bake the treats I'd hoped to take up north, I did not sew, and I certainly didn't pack until the last minute, managing to leave the toothpaste behind.  What I DID do was learn the spanish for "Is this your cat?" and "Have you lost a kitten?" and I door knocked up and down our street looking for the owners.  I called vets.  I made appointments.

I had some rules about the kitten, mostly trying to dissuade the growing feelings of attachment and hope.

We could not keep it if:

It's a boy.  She isn't.
It is aggressive towards the kids.  She wasn't.  Instead she was sweet, affectionate and patient.  
It's microchipped. She wasn't.
It's fatally sick. She is in perfect health.
The owner of our place says we can't keep her.  He said we could.  (!!)


And my last ditch attempt - if she is named after a Barbie movie cat: The girls instead chose "Rosie".

Rosie.

And so we became the owners of a 2 1/2 month old kitten who is pretty much perfect, and just landed on our doorstep.

Apparently I'm now a cat person.