TINY KITTY QUICKLY MAKES A LARGISH IMPACT ON PIGGYBANK

One of the joys of being an adult is having the money to pay for life’s little luxuries … along with vet’s bills

GOD, it’s good to be an adult. Childhood may get all the glory – innocence, free play, unfettered hope and optimism; but the reality is it can be a total grind.

Innocence simply means the eventual loss thereof; free play is repressed by homework and rules, rules, rules; and all that hope and optimism is pretty well spent by the time you reach your teens.

Adulthood, on the other hand, is considered dull and dreary – work, work, work and nothing but responsibility.

But work, work, work also means money, money, money – which definitely puts paid to schoolwork.

And responsibility means you get to be in charge of yourself. Which is way underrated.

Think about it … how good is it to make your own rules? Cookie dough for breakfast? Why not? Chocolate and red wine for dinner? Who’s going to tell me no? (Shut up body, no one’s listening to you.)

If I want something and I can afford it, I can do it.

And that’s pretty much how we just got our new cat.

Over the school holidays I took the kids to the Animal Welfare League to have a look at the puppies and kittens for a nice, free, furry activity. Plus it meant I could peruse the AWL op-shop at leisure. Win-win.

Next thing you know, I’ve got a freaking kitten. Big lose for the husband. And the dog.

Look, she’s a purebred Russian Blue if that means anything to you, she’s super cute and was $200, fully vaccinated, desexed and microchipped. How could I refuse? Especially when she jumped in my lap and started purring. Clearly I smell like sucker to animals.

But while I got my instant cat-ification, I’m now dealing with the dark side of responsibility.

Scooping poops is not my thing, but I knew that was party of the kitty package.

The kids have very diligently offered their assistance, but ever since I found a little brown nugget mashed down the drain of the bathroom sink I’ve decided they can stick solely with feeding duties.

Fortunately, changing kitty litter is a breeze. I must admit this creature came knowing where to do her business like nobody’s business.

Like a cat who’s got the cream, I’ve been smugly wondering why we ever bothered to even get a dog.

This kitty cuddles like the most loyal of canines. In fact, her preferred sleeping location is my husband’s face. He can pretend he doesn’t like it but it’s the most action he’s had for some time.

Alas, all that has come to an end.

Just days after bringing puss home, she started sneezing and snorting.

Her eyes were watery and her tummy felt hot.

Mildly alarmed but not really wanting to spend money on the vet (adulting equals financial responsibility), I phoned in to ABC Radio’s vet chat.

And there, live on air and broadcast to the entire city, I was informed my pretty little kitty most likely has herpes.

Within moments my phone was pinging with messages about my sick, ahem, pussy.

I’m sure you can imagine. Who knew so many people – and so many people who know my phone number – listen to that segment?

So I ended up having to cough up another $160 for antibiotics to treat my poor puss, who is now on the mend.

Also, it turns out it wasn’t herpes at all. It was chlamydia. And that is a problem that is definitely adults only.

ann.wasonmoore@news.com.au