Just let me sit down for a minute. I can explain. Sort of.
I’ve been trying to pick a paint color for the walls of my house and I can tell you it’s harder than deciding what to name a baby. I might just pour them all into a bucket and swish.
My walls are starting to look like a Lisa Frank Trapper Keeper:
The colors look great on the flippy cards, even the raspberry one (Wazzup), because I’m reading their little printed names in the corner. How can you not choose Folding Chair, Sanskrit, or Oracle?
I almost don’t care what it looks like on a vaulted ceiling if I can tell my stunned guests, “That? Oh, that one is Mosquito Pass. We thought it was fitting. Here’s your mesh hat.The baseboards are a lovely shade of Serpent.”
At some point, those poor painter humans decided to pour words into a bucket and swish because there are colors called, so help me, In Between and Sample Pot.
I had to walk away for a while because I had the opportunity to assist in a humanitarian effort involving my sister-in-law, pheromones, and cardboard boxes with little holes in them.
She wanted to bust a cat out of the humane society and needed a wingman. That’s me.
The ladies in my life are blessed with an intuition that evades me and watching her walk into the Kitty Corral and choose a lifetime companion was like watching a magic trick.
How did she do that?
The room was full of cats and they all needed furr-ever homes, so my instincts said, “Take any of them home, of course! You can’t mess this up, it’s a good deed.”
A sweet little gray cat immediately began purring up against my legs. She snuggled my hand when I reached down to pet her and began following my sister around the room, trying to catch her eye.
“Paint the walls any color, of course. You can’t mess this up, anything will be an upgrade from what I’m staring at.”
But my sister already had a cat in mind. Her feline of choice was asleep in a cardboard condo, and flat out refused come out to say hello.
“I’ll take him,” she told the lady.
“A million paint colors. They all look the same. Two thousand shades of white. I’ll take this one.”
She circled the cat room again and discovered that her cat of choice had a sister. The girl cat was hiding in a cat tree. When the employee hauled her out and placed her in my sister’s arms, the cat made it very clear that not only was holding an unacceptable form of interaction, but that my sister was the last person on earth that it wanted to go home with. Ever.
It leapt onto a windowsill and scrambled frantically back into the hidey-hole.
“I don’t understand. It says white on the label. Why does it look yellow on the trim? This one isn’t brown, it’s peach. Didn’t the cute little pinterest website glorify this gray? Why is it screaming ‘purple’ at me? Why?”
In the meantime, sweet little gray cat was tap-dancing, juggling catnip, and generally rolling around begging my sister to choose it.
“Okay, this is obviously the right one, let’s paint the walls in Riviera Beach.”
My sister turned to the employee, “I’ll take the sister cat, too, she’s a sweetheart.”
She saw the appalled look on my face.
“I knew it the minute I held her,” she insisted, “I could just tell.”
“Hm. Well, it looked great in the hall. Not so much in the living room. Maybe we will grow to love it. Maybe if we put enough art and furniture around it, we’ll get used to it being in the house.”
Darned if I don’t keep bringing home the wrong cat. Er, color.
I held this many paint pots:
They all tried frantically to escape my walls.
Why? Why can’t I ‘just tell’?
Meanwhile, my sister is settling in with two beautiful cats who adore her now.
They are named “Boy” and “Lola”.
So help me.