Introducing Maya Pavlova

Well, no original pictures, although I took a bunch this afternoon. I won't bore you with the story of the drugstore clerk who forgot and various other matters, some technical, and we may or may not have lovely pictures tomorrow; I may have to start all over. I don't own a digital camera (they cost money) so I have to get a CD made from regular film, but that wasn't the problem.

All this is barely significant, because the good news is that I have a new housemate. She is grey with very faint tabby markings, white paws, and a white triangular bib, and she is currently stepping on my lap and rubbing her head against my hands trying to keep me from writing. Her purr is nice and loud. She actually moved in Sunday, but because I am allergic to some cats and not others I waited to see whether my lungs got sick or not. The last time I tried to adopt, long ago last early winter in the pre-blog era, I turned out to be violently allergic to the furry critter and had to return her to her foster parents. But this time, only the occasional itchy eyes and a sneeze or two; not a hint of asthma. I'm waiting a few more days before making the adoption permanent (who is adopting whom is the question) but it looks like Miss Maya is going to stay.

Maya is her shelter name. The last time I adopted, I gave the cat a new name. That was the late lamented Sensei. My two failed adoptions (one a year ago from the SPCA and the one in the winter from the local shelter-rescue league, from which I had adopted Sensei) also got new names. This one has a lovely name and it fits, so I thought I'd just add to it. The Pavlova part happened because this creature JUMPS. I mean, she is a dancer and leaper of the first order. UP she goes to the top of the file cabinet. DOWN to the floor and WHOOOSHHH gallops to the kitchen and UP to the top of the fridge. Run, leap, jump. Also, she has a habit of arching her front paws like a dancer about to get up on pointe, usually, but not always, before she leaps. The great dancer Anna Pavlova (1881-1931) was known for her extraordinarily arched feet. (I on the other hand have flat feet, so ballet dancing was not the career for me.) Hence Maya Pavlova.

Today Maya Pavlova did not leap as much as usual. (I spoke too soon, she just jumped from my desk to the top of the file cabinet, where she likes to nap and from which she surveys my study and keeps an eye on me.) I was home working here most of the day and she relaxed and sat on my desk keeping me company, watching what my friends and colleagues next door call "Kitty TV" --the view out the window-- napping, and occasionally stretching and showing me her belly. I think she's starting to like it here. She likes the company and so do I.

Maya Pavlova is a small creature. She was, says the shelter, "a baby having babies" when someone abandoned her. She had the babies, the shelter had her spayed, and she's now enjoying her adolescence and occasionally acting like a kitten, but she's as large as she'll get. She's not tiny, but she's not a humongous cat.

I figured this fall would be the time to look for a new cat, or let a new cat find me, but perhaps not quite this early. The serious grumpiness of a week or two ago (definitely school-related, but perhaps not unrelated to grief) helped persuade me that I needed an in-house therapist. Also, there was the mouse problem. And this critter was awfully cute.

As for the gorgeous and lively black cat whose photo I was oggling on the web (the one the shelter named Jane, same shelter as Maya's) I did have a visit with her and in fact first came looking for her. But she was terribly skittish and didn't even want to talk to me. She also scratched me a few times and the scratches turned into big huge welts, which means allergy. Alas. She is very pretty and apparently black cats get adopted less, so I'd have been happy to take her in. She gets stressed out at the shelter, apparently -- lives in foster care and was hyper on her two or three afternoons per week in the institutional setting. Can't say I blame her. Maya on the other hand had been living at the shelter at the while, so they tell me, and was pretty mellow by the time she and I had our little interview. It's a little strange interviewing cats. Or being interviewed, if they are willing. Maya was willing. Eventually you'll see her picture. Yes, that's her below, but you can't really see her face. You can catch the vibe, though.

Purrrrrrrrr. Auntie Jane's stress level is much better.

P.S. More on dancer Anna Pavlova here, with a great photo.