My Tripolar Adoptive Kitten

Neither puncture wounds, an angry wife or projectile vomit will stop me from protecting my Poe.

Illustration by Sam Spina

I am a Poe apologist.

Let me backtrack a little. About a year and a half ago, my wife Ae and I adopted a small, soft kitten we named Poe from a Midtown shelter called Bideawee. I pushed for a cat because one fits our lives better, although we both grew up with dogs.

Poe appears to be wearing a blue-grey suit and tie with white shirt and shoes. I met her first, but only after I spent an hour convincing many skittish kittens to play with me. Poe, then named Olivia, was being treated for parasites. When the volunteer let her out of her cage she leaped into my arms and began purring furiously. She also climbed onto my shoulder and bit my ear, which the volunteer assured me was normal for a 3- to 4-month old kitten.

I brought Ae to meet Poe that weekend, and we decided to sleep on it. Another couple watched us playing with Poe, whispering about how cute she was, then scooped her up while we met other cats.

We peeked into Poe’s cage again as we left. She meowed loudly, …