22"I got to hold a cat! " I could scream it from the mountaintop, if I could only coax my throat muscles into working and get back to the mountains.
Today, thanks to Chrissy, a social worker here at Bailey Boushay House, and Sandra, the recreation therapist, I, my husband, and Tessa, one of my patient care technicians, got to go to the "Meowtropolitan" for coffee and cat therapy. That's what I said, coffee and cat therapy, well cats, the therapy part is my take on the situation. I've been starved for kitty contact since my own sweet cat, Gracie, passed away a year and a half ago.
Although I've lived in a skilled nursing facility situation for the past two years, my husband, dutifully brought my big, furry, gray tabby "baby" to see me. I yearned for the times when she'd arrive in my husband's arms. He'd place her on my lap as I sat, reclined, in my fancy, motorized wheelchair. I was already unable to pet her but just having her lie on me, purring (or snoring, she was 15) made me feel contentment.
Anyway, this is a happy occasion. The Meowtropolitan is a funky, hip, coffee bar serving delicious cat-themed coffee fare, cattitude, and the opportunity to hang out with the stars of the show, the cats. When entering the establishment, the scent of coffee beckons, painted cat paw prints approach the coffee bar and so do we. The bar has a medievel castle-like feel punctuated with cat. The likenesses of cats grace the macaroons in chocolate, vanilla, raspberry, and pistachio; the foam topping the "Meow"ca (mocha);
the t-shirts for sale; and the wall art (Grumpy Cat says NO).
Coffee drinks ordered, I'm ready for serious kitty time. No such luck! My prize, the objects of my affection, are behind two glass doors to keep the sneaky little buggers in their idyllic enclosure. Felines languidly ambled past the double windowed doors, unaware that one of their greatest fans was at hand. Open, open, open.
The doors open to kitty goodness, first one, and then the other, and I'm in. The cats are relaxed. They are "at home" in this, their domain. We're not allowed to chase after, nor pick up the kitties, so I had my pockets stuffed with catnip. "Hey, don't judge, how else does a quadriplegic in a power wheelchair entice a cat to a lap?!" It turned out I need not have bothered; the cats never noticed and the cat-tendent happily deposited a docile calico on my lap. It was love at first landing, Lily was lovely. In typical cat fashion, she investigated me, pranced around my lap in a circle, found it to her liking, and settled in for a nap. That was worth the price of admission!
A majestic grey ensconced on a shelf, napping, then nipping at anyone who dared disturb his regal snooze, peered over the side to make eye contact with me. Is it me or my catnip?
A fuzzy small-boned tuxedo cat, the one who sashayed past the glass doors, found a grocery bag to hole up in, while Lily, the calico, took refuge in a box. The gregarious duo, a gray and white short hair with his white and black buddy, frantically chased wands trailing streamers, balls, and bells brandished by other hopeful cat enthusiasts. A white with orange medium hair never deigned to unfurl from a burlap-lined woven basket, a cat's prerogative, clearly.
High atop the specially-constructed, multi-tiered cat tower, a gray tabby taunts a couple by staying just out of reach. He knows exactly what he's doing, such a cat! A sea grass rocker cradles a lithe, lazy, dirty-white feline who refuses to stir despite friendly scratches and loving murmurs. The cats are in charge and they know it.
Time flies, our one-hour time slot was over before we knew it. On our way out, the cat-tendent held a tiger-striped tabby at the door to see us out. Thanks to sweet Tessa, I got oodles of good photos to document the visit to remember. I knew I'd be returning soon...
Today, thanks to Chrissy, a social worker here at Bailey Boushay House, and Sandra, the recreation therapist, I, my husband, and Tessa, one of my patient care technicians, got to go to the "Meowtropolitan" for coffee and cat therapy. That's what I said, coffee and cat therapy, well cats, the therapy part is my take on the situation. I've been starved for kitty contact since my own sweet cat, Gracie, passed away a year and a half ago.
Although I've lived in a skilled nursing facility situation for the past two years, my husband, dutifully brought my big, furry, gray tabby "baby" to see me. I yearned for the times when she'd arrive in my husband's arms. He'd place her on my lap as I sat, reclined, in my fancy, motorized wheelchair. I was already unable to pet her but just having her lie on me, purring (or snoring, she was 15) made me feel contentment.
Anyway, this is a happy occasion. The Meowtropolitan is a funky, hip, coffee bar serving delicious cat-themed coffee fare, cattitude, and the opportunity to hang out with the stars of the show, the cats. When entering the establishment, the scent of coffee beckons, painted cat paw prints approach the coffee bar and so do we. The bar has a medievel castle-like feel punctuated with cat. The likenesses of cats grace the macaroons in chocolate, vanilla, raspberry, and pistachio; the foam topping the "Meow"ca (mocha);
the t-shirts for sale; and the wall art (Grumpy Cat says NO).
Coffee drinks ordered, I'm ready for serious kitty time. No such luck! My prize, the objects of my affection, are behind two glass doors to keep the sneaky little buggers in their idyllic enclosure. Felines languidly ambled past the double windowed doors, unaware that one of their greatest fans was at hand. Open, open, open.
The doors open to kitty goodness, first one, and then the other, and I'm in. The cats are relaxed. They are "at home" in this, their domain. We're not allowed to chase after, nor pick up the kitties, so I had my pockets stuffed with catnip. "Hey, don't judge, how else does a quadriplegic in a power wheelchair entice a cat to a lap?!" It turned out I need not have bothered; the cats never noticed and the cat-tendent happily deposited a docile calico on my lap. It was love at first landing, Lily was lovely. In typical cat fashion, she investigated me, pranced around my lap in a circle, found it to her liking, and settled in for a nap. That was worth the price of admission!
A majestic grey ensconced on a shelf, napping, then nipping at anyone who dared disturb his regal snooze, peered over the side to make eye contact with me. Is it me or my catnip?
A fuzzy small-boned tuxedo cat, the one who sashayed past the glass doors, found a grocery bag to hole up in, while Lily, the calico, took refuge in a box. The gregarious duo, a gray and white short hair with his white and black buddy, frantically chased wands trailing streamers, balls, and bells brandished by other hopeful cat enthusiasts. A white with orange medium hair never deigned to unfurl from a burlap-lined woven basket, a cat's prerogative, clearly.
High atop the specially-constructed, multi-tiered cat tower, a gray tabby taunts a couple by staying just out of reach. He knows exactly what he's doing, such a cat! A sea grass rocker cradles a lithe, lazy, dirty-white feline who refuses to stir despite friendly scratches and loving murmurs. The cats are in charge and they know it.
Time flies, our one-hour time slot was over before we knew it. On our way out, the cat-tendent held a tiger-striped tabby at the door to see us out. Thanks to sweet Tessa, I got oodles of good photos to document the visit to remember. I knew I'd be returning soon...
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