Louie, Louie

We have a cat.

When I tell people about our pets, most often I start the introduction with "then we accidentally got___"

Avy and Rio were planned (as much as one plans these things--"Look at that precious dog! Let's adopt him/her!"). Then Zippo just showed up and wouldn't leave, then Avy needed Mason, and then... and then, the cat.

My aunt convinced us to adopt two of her neighbor's barn kittens, as we've had mice and we have a barn. Perfect equation. I'd taken Avy and Mason to the vet earlier that week (only Mason had an appointment, but Avy got in the car and wouldn't leave), and they reacted with pure apathy when the vet's cat wandered near. I thought, hey, let's get a couple of kittens. I grew up with barn cats, and if they're anything, they're low-maintenance.

Three days later, I was driving home from St. Louis (where we did the cat pick-up, like a furry stinky drug deal) with two kittens.

One day later, we managed to find one of the kittens in a tree and brought him in (what happens between A and B involved some ugliness on Mason's part, which we just don't need to re-hash. I'll save the gore for the next post). We kept the little guy in the bathroom/laundry room, and decided we'd transition him slowly to be an outside cat, and everything would be fine.

Two months later, he's curled up on the couch with me.

And that's how we accidentally got a cat.

By the way, my cat allergies (which have been significant since a young age) disappeared after a few days of having him inside. Cats are pretty awesome, which I never knew, although litter is one of the worst things ever. I still haven't figured out how to make that not awful (except for the covered box and flushable Swheat).

No more animals now. We're done.