Thursday, 31 March 2005 | Rental

I've been thinking of getting a temporary cat. There's a place at Union Square that allows you to foster them, which means that you bring one home Sunday evening and take it back Friday afternoon, as if you're renting a warm, living ball of fur for the work-week.

On the weekends it sits in a cage while people stick their fingers through the metal grid and coo. If no one decides to take my temporary cat home, then I'm notified and asked to retrieve it. If my temporary cat has found a home, I think that means I'm given a different feline. Sort of like Netflix, I guess, but without the convenience.

There are a few problems with this set-up, of course. I'll have to do a lot of cat transporting, and I imagine that dropping it off will be sort of sad and confusing, as I won't know whether I'll see the same animal again on Sunday. Perhaps the most discouraging factor is that I spend very little time at home, so I'm not even sure I'd be doing the cat a favor by inviting it over.

I've only had one dream about my cat Jane since she died, or at least that I can remember. In it, I was going on a trip, and for some reason I neglected to find someone to feed her or give her insulin shots while I was away. In fact, I just left her in a yard of some sort, collarless, and took off. Several days after returning, I realized what I had done and began to panic, wondering if she was okay and if I'd ever see her again. And then my rational dream brain spoke up and reminded me, "Don't worry. You didn't leave her in a yard. She died of diabetes," as if that were somehow a relief.

I keep visiting the cats at Union Square and reading the stories pinned on their cages, all of which are cleverly told in first-person, as if the animal were speaking directly to you. And each time I go, I decide that I'm going to take one of the cats home the following Sunday night. But by the time Sunday night rolls around, I've talked myself out of it again.