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Mew!
By briantologist | November 19, 2003
I’m pleased to report that the previously top-secret Operation: Tiny Kitten is now a resounding success. This plan came about shortly after my dearest Darleece, in a post-miscarriage funk, suggested we adopt a sweet li’l dog she saw on the web. I went and filled out the form, met the dog, who was indeed a sweetheart, and waited for them to call back.
They never did, and so I moved on to plan B, which was to procure a free kitten (the best kind, as anybody can tell you) and surprise her with it. This turned out to be slightly less simple than I’d planned. I found out Friday that they gave the dog to somebody else, the fuckers, and so drove around for half an hour looking for any of the seemingly boundless “FREE KITTENS!” signs we kept seeing up until the point when I was actually ready to take one home. Nothing.
The next day I snuck out and called the free kitten ads in the classifieds (how does one keep one’s home from being overrun when posting an ad like this?), which yielded nothing but a completely incoherent kid who answered the phone. Mamas, you can go ahead and let your babies grow up to be cowboys, but please do us all a favor and don’t let them answer the phone before they can finish a fucking sentence.
I ended up at Petsmart, where, lo and behold, there was a cage full of exactly the kittens I was looking for. I picked one out, signed a form, and as of last night I was driving home with a box full of newspaper and kitten. One of those two items was really psyched about climbing out of the box while I drove, and the newspaper was perfectly content where it was.
I know it seems redundant to say that somebody loves kittens, as practically everyone loves kittens, even if they don’t actually like cats. But my lady, she luuuuuuuuuuuuuvs her some kittens. And the kitten I ended up with was particularly lovable. He’s tiny (natch), grey, and striped all over. He does all the traditional kitten things with an aplomb that seems to suggest he just finished his degree in being a kitten: Just in the time between when I got up and when I went to work this morning, he scampered around, pounced on things that weren’t there, and got in a life-or-death struggle with the dust ruffle on our bed. This kitten is good. Oh, he’s very, very good.
In closing, I can only say that if you think it’s hard keeping, say, a bit of gossip about the King of Pop and a twelve-year-old boy under wraps, just try not telling someone about the surprise kitten they’re getting in a few days. Not easy, my friends. Not easy.
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