Yesterday I heard from the animal shelter. I was wondering what was taking them so long, because I know kitten season is upon us.
“We have, well, we have 7 kittens and their mom,” they said apologetically, like they were sorry for even asking.
“I’ll be there right after work,” I said. Maybe I’m the only person who thinks she struck gold when she hears, “Seven kittens and a mom cat need to stay with you for a few weeks,” but MOTHER OF GOD.
So I schlepped through the driving rain, like Dwayne in Annie Hall, which is probably funny to like four of you. It was funny to fewer of you than there are kittens. Anyway, I drove, on the stupidest street we have in Greensboro, at 5 o’clock at night, and Dear Shelter: Why you gotta be somewhere annoying?
Anyway I got there 20 minutes before close and they were packed. There were two guys picking up a cute-headed pit, and they had 494939530204042 questions. “Well, let’s say we’re in Appalachia, and the humidity was 24. What would we do if…?” I mean, with the QUESTIONS already.
So since I had time to, oh, do whatever, what do you think I did?
Did I take that moment to fall in love with a gray grownupeldy minty-eyed kitty named Max? Perhaps I did. I’d have scooped him up if I didn’t currently have
animals in my house at the moment.
Twelve. I have apostles.
Eventually, they were able to hand me over the cat carrier, and I glanced inside, because they’d told me nothing about what COLOR kittens I was getting, so it was like when you pick one door on Let’s Make a Deal or some other similar current reference.
Okay, well, some of us are tortoiseshell-ish. Which is also orange, just all mixed up like butterscotch. Which makes no sense.
And I want to assure you that floor is not filthy. It’s that damn concrete floor I used to blog in, before my Year Abroad, and while I’ve scraped and painted and carried on with that floor, it peels all the time, rendering it terrible-looking. But I swept in there and put a quilt down, and what you’re seeing is the paint effing peeling, and you know what I need to do? I need to get Alf to put down some tile.
What I want is retro-looking linoleum. Who’s going to be annoyed with me, do you think, when I ask him to lay retro-looking linoleum and not floating clicky easy tiles?
Anyway back to our kittens. Who cares how Alf my ridik handyman feels?
What is not easy is photographing teensy kittens. I think they’re probably three or four weeks old.
Out of 497 photos, here are the only halfway decent ones I got.
Anyway, as they get older, it’ll be easier to take photos of them.
Meanwhile, the regularly scheduled dog and cat bowls have been moved from the kitchen, and the litterboxes are back here with me. None of my cats care that there are kittens back there. They hear them, but they’re all, eh. Dis agan.
I read my tarot cards every month, and one of the categories is “You in the Environment of the Future.”
Here’s me, in the environment of the present, with KITTENS.
And hurr. It’s been raining.
While we’re on the topic of cats, you know, just a bit, yesterday was the last day of SD’s confinement, as he is now done with his antibiotics. And today? It’s raining cats and cats. I held the door open for him, and as SO BORED OH SO BORED as he is, he wouldn’t go out in it.
Instead, he is opting to wreak havoc throughout the land. I also caught him coming from the laundry area, so I shudder to think of what he ate.
So that’s all my news. There are 108 lives in this house currently.
You don’t even wanna know how long it took me to figure out the maths of that.
Orange you glad I blogged today?
June. Who you callin’ crazy cat lady?