It was a bad idea, and I knew it. But like most bad ideas, it was based on want rather than need. Walking into the animal shelter armed with unsound reasoning and weak self-control, I knew I wouldn’t leave empty handed.

“Gilligan needs a playmate,” I told myself. It was a true statement for our 2-year-old yellow lab, who was particularly demanding of constant attention. However, adopting a kitten was a risky solution with all sorts of potential inconveniences.

Instead of facing the stark realities of cat attitudes, smelly litter boxes, pricey pet sitters, scratched furniture, and increased veterinary bills, I chose to focus on Instagram Reels depicting dogs and cats snuggling or playing with each other in precious displays of companionship. I placed my faith in googled articles stating that kittens (as opposed to adult cats) often bond with dogs in the same household if conditions are right.

Having previously owned Zuzu, a family cat who lived for 16 years, we were familiar with the potential inconveniences of cat care. But Zuzu was our cat before Francis retired from the Navy, so she endured six moves, complicated pet flights, and a six-month quarantine during our overseas tour in England. It would be easier this time, I told myself.

My husband, Francis, was doubtful, but I ignored his naysaying and forged on with my ill-conceived plan. In my defense, I was being influenced by our young adult children. “C’mon Mom!” they shamelessly begged, “The cat will become Gilly’s best friend! Kittens are so cute! Don’t worry about litter boxes and pet sitters — we’ll help out!”

It was hogwash, but as an empty nester, I guess I wanted another live being to nurture in my life. I wanted more connection, companionship and affection. And so, when I learned that the local animal shelter had taken in several new foster kittens, off we went.

I filled out registration forms required for anyone to meet the adoptable animals. “The kittens go fast, so there’s only one left,” the staff member told me as she led Francis and I down the hall to the cat enclosures. She left us in one of the small rooms where cats were kept in tidy cubicles.

“There she is!” I exclaimed, seeing a skinny black kitten hiding in bedding. Her yellow-green eyes peered timidly at us. The card posted on the enclosure listed her as a three-month-old domestic shorthair. I reached into the cube and gently lifted her lanky three-pound body out, and held her close to my chest, stroking the fine fur over her tiny bones. Francis held her too, and she soon began to purr.

That was all it took. The staff could have warned that she had contagious diseases, would develop psychotic tendencies or was the spawn of Satan. It wouldn’t have mattered. She purred, so we were adopting her, period.

Retrieving her records at the shelter front desk, I learned that our new kitten had been found alone at five weeks of age in a commercial area of Boca Raton, Fla., where she was fostered until she arrived our Rhode Island shelter. Her heart-rending backstory only served to cement our fate — we took the little bugger home.

After considerable family debate, we settled on the name Minnow for our lithe new family member, a nautical homage to the 1960s sitcom that was the origin for Gilligan’s name. In the five weeks since she’s been with us, Minnow has staked her claim in my home office, and hasn’t become pals with Gilly yet.

She has, however, managed to dirty seven boxes of litter, devour pounds of cat kibble, scatter dozens of cat toys, lure Gilly close only to hiss at him, mischievously knock items off of my desk, claw her fish-hooks into the upholstery of my antique goose-neck rocker and sink her teeth into my fingers, arms and hair.

I now see that I didn’t make an intelligent decision to adopt a cat. On the contrary, every time Minnow curls into our laps to lovingly purr, touches our cheeks with her soft toe beans or licks our skin with her prickly tongue, I realize that Minnow very wisely made that decision for us.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com