Update: Mom got her dog! It's a Havanese-something mix named Rosie that is small, precious, and spoiled to death.
(-something mix: yorkie is a possibility but still looking at similar dogs)
She also has increased the cat population of her home to five. We'll start with the dog drama.
So Mom had more or less was at 'resigned to never having a dog' and I was at 'I wonder what the interest rate on a loan would be on a loan and if the credit union would make me tell them I need it for a dog for Christmas' when I got a text showing Mom Holding An Adorable Dog.
It happened like this.
There's a small animal shelter/rescue that is on one of the routes from work to home, and when mom takes that route, she sometimes stops by less from hope than undiagnosed masochism because they never, never have small dogs or if they do, ones already dibbed for but she can totally meet and bond with just in case the potential owner pulls out (they never do). Yeah.
But not that day. That day, she happened to show up when they were still doing intake on a group of abandoned dogs. All were found in not great condition (some had to be shaved straight to the skin later their fur was so matted) and somehow, among them, she spied Her Dog.
Mom, probably pointing at it like Lady McBeth on Broadway: DIBS.
(My middle sister, who met her there: I really thought she was kidding.
Staff: [no idea but I really wish I knew])
Anyway, procedure includes a week to find the owner, but owner not found, the dog was hers. Let me say again; this dog was sighted before intake. When it was still out back being evaluated. How she even got back to staff-only I'm not entirely sure, but I'm assuming they were so used to seeing her around that her appearing back there simply didn't register.
Or, more likely:
My mom doesn't know this--how she missed it, I have no idea--but she has a frighteningly effective talent for being able to appear she belongs anywhere she wants to be and no one really--caring, even when they really really should. Granted, the back area of a dog rescue isn't the Pentagon, but from experience, hospitals, retail stores, if the door is not locked, she does it. If the door is locked, someone will let her in. I love my mom, but she is not supernaturally charming or exude an aura of 'do things for me' or 'authority'; my best guess is it's kind of a limited folie a deux thing; if it doesn't occur to her that she shouldn't be there, everyone who encounters her just kind of agrees.
Example: back in the eighties, for those alive then, The Year of the Cabbage Patch Kids? Remember they were nearly impossible to get anywhere? My mom got three at Easter of that same year by dint of wandering into the back of the store, overhearing a truck of them was coming, and just--hung out until it arrived. When the boxes were opened, they just--let her go through the boxes, pick three (one brunette, one red-head, one blonde), paid for them at one of the registers (I assume the ones farthest from the billion other people stalking the store, Tickle Me Elmo was fucking nothing compared to The Year of Cabbage Patch Kids, being shanked was not out of the question) and brought them home.
(She doesn't use it often, but from what I can tell, that's only because in general, if she's aware she shouldn't be there, she won't try and therefore nothing happens.)
Anyway, they checked the dogs over while she waited, and Her Dog was thoroughly trimmed (not shaved luckily) and as it turns out, it was goddamn adorable. Personality was nailed at 'incredibly sweet and gentle', 'loved everyone', 'wanted to be held and petted like a lot', and adored my mother on sight and did not leave her lap until she had to go (yeah, they handed over the newly intaked dog for her to cuddle like right there See above). Basically, this dog could not be more goddamn perfect if it was made to order for her.
A week later, she took Rosie home, and after a blissful night of bonding, took her to the vet the next day and not surprisingly, perfect dog. It's on a monthly treatment for something mild (I can't remember but to be fair, when she told me I was still boggling the turns of fate) but otherwise--perfect. damn. dog.
Just saying. It's kind of suspicious.
Now, what we've all been waiting for:
Right, now the fifth cat. Which I visited to meet Rosie, it was like this:
Mom, surrounded by cats and single dog: This is Rosie!
Me: ...there are five cats.
Mom: Yes, I can explain that.
My sister, who lives with her: Wait for it.
From what I understand, it's the neighbor's cat from three houses down that walked in the door and just--doesn't leave. It apparently goes home like--never--and the neighbors do know but have done nothing. It was taken home at least once but that totally did not take, and if you're curious, keeping a cat out is about an order of magnitude harder than keeping one in.
Worse--much worse--it just sits on the front patio looking miserably patient with the vagaries of fate and cat ownership (if anyone can really say they own a cat) and will do this for a straight day without seeming to move and staring at anyone coming or going. My sister confirmed this actually happened and obviously, everyone's will broke after a day of that shit.
It's a good cat; does not jump on or destroy furniture or anything else, pretty chill, but it can't be denied, two cats you have 'a couple of', three cats is 'a few', four is 'some', but five, you're at 'clowder'. She has a clowder of cats.
So, dog achieved and a clowder of cats. What a time to be alive.
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