Despite another busy day at work, I called the animal shelter Wednesday.
“Yes,” I said, because it’s my signature move to begin all my business-y calls with “yes.”
“Yes, I’m fostering seven kittens and their mom, because am self-loathing nincompoop, and I have two people possibly interested in adopting one kitten each. How should they do that?”
I wonder if my mother would pronounce that word “nincom-go-to-the-bathroom.” Do you remember when she said Ned should “Go to the bathroom or get off the pot” re marrying me? Harsh words from a stern taskmaster.
“What are the names of your kittens?” asked the poor recipient of my “Yes…” call.
Their names? They had names?
The last two batches of kittens I received came with paperwork, but these did not. So I had to go home and make up names for them, which is how I came up with Cora Godsey and the seven Walton children, although let’s face it, I always call that one big one Donald Trump and that runt “Runty.”
But all along they had regularly scheduled names?
Using my name and date of birth and social security number and ATM PIN and password to my 401(k), we figured out which kittens I have, and the nice “Yes” recipient gave me the shelter ID number of the mom cat, for future identification. Then she told me how my potential adoptees could get their potential cats, potentially.
The point of my telling you this rather tedious tale is that when we hung up the phone it occurred to me, she’d grown up just like me. My “Yes” recipient was just like me.
AND THE CAT’S IN THE CRADLE AND THE SILVER SPPON.
IT OCCURRED TO ME that I could go on the shelter’s website, where on their homepage, in blue, they’ve written “See adoptable animals” and then in BLACK they’ve written “Click Here,” which is just about the most cockamamie link design I have ever seen.
Or, is my mother would call it, genital-amamie.
Despite this, I realized that with the mom’s ID, I could find all the first-day-at-the-shelter mug shots of the mom and all her teensy babies, ALONG WITH THEIR REAL NAMES, and I am dying and also I feel I must show this to all of you.
The level of thrilled I was with this discovery was not nearly commensurate with reality, but that about sums me up. That and, “I hate everyone except people made of glitter.”
Without further ado, I present you my foster kittens way back four weeks ago when they arrived at the shelter, naked and afraid, and an accompanying photo from this current moment in their lives.
Mom Cat/aka Nikita/aka Cora
Nikita is my coworker Ryan’s girlfriend’s name, so this kills me extra particularly.
Rembrant/aka Donald Trump
I AM DYING. Oh my god, I love that I discovered their mug shots from kitty jail. And they’re all getting so big big big! They got to the shelter April 20, and I got them April 21. So they looked like these jail pics when I picked them up. I can’t even remember them being so bitty!
Claude Monet/aka JimBob (two names you often mention in same breath)
Andy Warhol/aka Ben
Edgar Degas/aka Jason
Caitlyn/aka Elizabeth/aka Runty/ aka Runtis Americanus
Azra/aka MaryEllen/aka FR LaUral’s soon-to-be kitten
So there they are, my foster kittens’ mugshots. I hope I was not alone in being delighted I discovered these. I know Hulk, at least, will be happy to see more cat pics.
Also wondering what the fuck an Azra is,