Somebody might be snuggly-est kitty ever. She slept with the dogs and me last night. There was gonna be none of that "I'm sleeping alone in the guest room" crap for her. At one point I woke up and she was splayed across Edsel.
Nervous and cowardly. That's Iris in a nutshell.
Anyway, it's time for my end-of-year slide show, and I am proud to report I did it myself. In previous years I just selected pictures and Marvin created the whole thing, but I figured it out myself. June. Certified genius. Acme Certified Genius.
This was a C- year, and that was being generous, but it wasn't all bad. See photo above. Also I got to know Dick Whitman's mom. And I got my new computer. And Latisse. Plus my new job is cool.
And then there's all of you.
See? You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life. The facts of life. (Fortunately that is not the song I play during this slide show. Although that would have been hilARious. It's by my friend Beth Thornley.)
My kitty gets here today. I will leave at lunchtime and get her, and take her home and set her up in the spare bedroom (now that I deflated the bed) (like a grownup) with all her new supplies.
Pal and I went to Pet Supplies "Plus" and note the "Plus" is in quotes and then the end quote was burnt out. You can imagine how this entire scenario didn't make my entrails pucker up or anything.
Nevertheless, we got this:
A cute cute cute bed, which she will care about deeply with all her visual skills, and toys that rattle so she can hear them, and a pink and green flowered collar. Yes, I will take the bell off because I figure she can hear me from the shelter right now, so acute are her other senses.
I also got a case of kitten food, which Pal paid for to welcome her to my world. And also? I think Ima call her Iris Frost instead of Virgin Merry Bailey Ingalls. Keep up. Keep up with the mature whirlwind that is June.
I took Pal to Stameys, which is an excellent and also very classy barbecue place. Oddly, Pal had spent the whole morning hoping I'd suggest we go out for barbecue, so there was some kismet or simpatico or really unhealthy eating patterns at work there.
My Pal from MA is here. And for the 9943939494 people who emailed me to say, "Did Pal from MA get there?" OH MY GOD, yes, she got here, and let me take five hours out of her visit to email everyone to let them know that. Geez.
Modern technology. Freeing us up not at all.
I got to her hotel, because we are both only children and need our alone time. Even though we have been friends since we are zygotes we know we'd drive each other berserk in my teensy house. After I walked in and we didn't hug, she said, "We need to go get gin."
I have never gotten gin in my life. I mean, I know I sound like some kind of teetotler, over here, and as you all know that has not always been the case, but gin has not been my drink of choice. I much prefer wine or aerosol cans.
In North Carolina, you can't just schlep out to the grocery store to get your gin like in civilized society (i.e., Michigan, where we grew up). No! You have to go to specific liquor stores. And why? Is this going to stop anyone? Alcohol is legal. Why do we have to head on out to a special store like it's clandestine, like we're getting medical marijuana or something?
So I had to go home, Google ABC Liquor Stores, think about which one would be closest to me with my fine sense of geography, decide whether Pal needed rehab, ponder whether to call my friend who works on that show Intervention to see if I could get on there with Pal and finally get my big break, and eventually Pal and I got our so-needing-alcohol-at-this-point patoots in the car to ABC Liquor.
And whoo! Way to go with that creative name, ABC Liquor people! Ima start my OWN liquor stores. You Have No Other Outlet Liquor. Hate Your Life Liquor. You're Drinking a Depressant to Forget You're Depressed Liquor. Said You Weren't Gonna Tonight Yet Here You Are Again Liquor.
Liquor? You Don't Even Know Her.
The liquor store was in a strip mall, but way over in a dark corner, like we were doing something bad. Like we were going to the Little Shop of Pupy Porn or something.
There was a nice sign on the door, written in Spanish, but it showed a silhouette of a woman with a baby inside and we pretty much got the message. They serve baby drinks, apparently. Drinks for the whole family!
Or maybe because the baby was still inside, they serve drinks with folic acid or something, for your baby's health. They should really have that sign in English, too.
Anyway, Pal headed straight to the gin aisle like she had some kind of gin-dar, and then said, "There's no tonic."
"How do you know there's no tonic? We've been in here 16 seconds. I'm looking for the baby drinks."
"I just know. I HATE North Carolina."
"Do you have tonic?" I asked the clerk, who had a delightful eyebrow ring. "No, ma'am. We don't even have vermouth. It doesn't have enough liquor in it."
??
"I HATE NORTH CAROLINA!" Pal screeched. Did I mention she can be screechy?
I drove her to the Indian convenience store near my house, which at this point might as well have been in India, and did I mention we had to be at a dinner at 7:00 with my book club?
"Namaste!" chirped the Indian guy, who might know me too well, seeing as I am often out of the finer things in life such as Spaghetti-Os and toilet paper.
"HAVE YOU GOT TONIC?" screeched Pal.
"Tonic? Like mineral water for health?" I knew he was in trouble.
"I HATE THIS STATE! THIS IS THE STUPIDEST PLACE IN THE WORLD!"
I ushered her out, wondering why she didn't just drink gin straight. Does anyone drink gin straight? You never hear about people doing that. If no one does that, why don't they just put the tonic right in there in the first place? Have I mentioned I am not a fan of gin?
Fortunately for all of North Carolina, tonic was the tonic for Pal at the grocery store, and the screech was tamed. And we were only 39939292 minutes late for book club dinner.
Hulk: I don't blame you....Now I'm re-living the summer of '69. Those were the best days of my life.
Me: Where the hell ARE you, the WSAM Bar and Grille?
(WSAM was the top 40 AM radio station from our childhood. Trust me. This was a hilarious line. However, Hulk took forever to write back. So I wrote:)
Me: Don't you remember WSAM?
Hulk: Yes, of course. That's the station that played Gears hockey games.
(sighhh)
Hulk: I'm still bummed that Jimmy quit and Jodie got married, but now I'm rocking the Kasbah.
Me: You have got to get out of that effing bar. Of course, I'm listening to my Thomas Kinkade Christmas clock, so who am I to judge?
Hulk: I can't leave. I just requested every Ratt song ever recorded so I have to stay for that. Also, pour some sugar on me.
Me: IN THE NAME OF LOVE! Come on fatten me up. That'd be redundant. Are you there for some kind of sports watching?
Hulk: Yep...watching the bowl games.
Me: I want you to know I have any clue what that means. I mean, are you watching bowling? Are people throwing bowls? Is this some sort of pottery event?
Hulk: College football games. Purdue v. Western Michigan & NC State v. blooo de blooo de blooo blooo blooo...
Me: I don't see what bowls have to do with football.
Hulk: Geez. They just call them "bowl games." If you do well in football your team gets to go to a bowl game.
Me: Well, that makes no sense. They should try to make more sense, if you ask me.
Hulk: It makes as much sense as paying for dog day care. Damn, now Johnny's working on the docks and livin' on a prayer.
(Fortunately for us all, I went to bed at this point.)
I wish Edsel could be any more passionately in love with his grandpappy. Last night my stepfather took a book of poetry to the dining room table (me too) to read because he didn't want to watch Real Housewives (why the rerun? You know who'd be a good addition to Real Housewives? Rerun.)
and anyway Edsel, for the first time ever, slept under the dining room table. That was only after he'd been gazing worshipfully at my stepfather for many moons.
Edsel has man issues, have you noticed that? He is from a broken home.
Anyway, yesterday I schlepped my mother and stepfather out to the shelter, to meet Virgin Mary Bailey Ingalls, and the stupid shelter was closed. There was no room at the inn. I mean, what the? Just because I had the day off doesn't mean the shelter workers deserved one. GOD.
So after that fruitless effort we did the next-best thing and went to a movie with Dick Whitman. It's not like we said, "Well, that's out. Let's call Dick Whitman." He had been on our agenda, anyway. He'd wanted to Southernly charm my mother, which I did not think he could do, but it turns out he totally did.
We all went to see My Week with Marilyn, not that I literally spent a really fast week with somebody named Marilyn and let them watch, it is a movie with Michelle Williams, who kind of bugs me. She always seems kind of beleaguered. And you know what I think? No one should try to play Marilyn Monroe. Because you can pad your bra and your hips and puff out your lips all you want. You are still not gonna have that thing that she and I have.
How much do you enjoy me?
Really, though. She had a kind of magic and that is why we are all fascinated by her and that is why no one can really play her. Dick Whitman pointed out that's why no one should play Elvis, either. True, that.
See. I thought this would be funny, making them stand under the "Boys" sign, but then it turns out you just can't really see them. I shoulda brought my real camera and not just my cell phone. You spend 9 million dollars on a cell phone, it should at least take good pictures.
Remember when it was just exciting to have a phone that took pictures? Now we want really good pictures. Remember when it was just exciting to have a phone outside?
Anyway, the whole drive home from Dick Whitman I had to answer a bunch of questions about why I'm not dating Dick Whitman, kind of like here on this blog. Dick Whitman, could you have been a little LESS charming? Now I gotta hear it from everyone. Fortunately, when things get really heated, I get to whip out the "allergic to cats and dogs" thing. That shuts everyone up.
"Well. That's true," everyone says. You know this leopard isn't gonna change her spots on that one.
Anyway, my mother and stepfather leave today and my best friend gets here tomorrow and June is an entertaining fool.
I am still entertaining guests, so today I give you a video from our childhoods. Or younger-than-nowhoods. You may have to sit through a 10-second ad of a guy eating the top of a Big Mac.
If you love me, you'll get your hair cut like that. Also? Possibly the most boring video ever.
Do you think I have some kind of issue that I am taking time out from Christmas to blog? I think I have blogged every Christmas since I started this rather all-absorbing hobby, and for that? I am weird.
My mother and stepfather got here yesterday, and here is the part where everyone's gonna say, "Oh, your mom is so cute!" Yes. I KNOW my mother is cute, okay? And that I look nothing like her and that I am a dog. I realize that part. Did I ever tell you about my wedding day, when everyone stampeded to me to tell me, "Your mother looks beautiful." WHOSE DAY IS IT?
Anyway, I like how it looks like she is wearing a wreath on her head. Did you see my pink wreath?
June. Being a really-super-gay gay man at Christmas since, you know, birth. June. The Elton John of Christmas.
As has been the prevailing theme this year, my mother and stepfather immediately said, "Open one of your presents right away," so I did. It was a DVD player! As you may or may not know, I have not had one all year, and have lived like a cave woman, with my club and my loincloth and my pointy Wilma phone.
Mostly they had me open it so my beleaguered stepfather could put it together, and why are men always stuck with tasks such as this? And then after we all watched Its a Wonderful Life, for a new and different experience. We all said the lines before they got there, such as, "Say, brainless" and "George, why must you torture the children" and one wonders why we watch it when we could mime it in its entirety.
Also, and I hope you are holding on to your hat, but I commenced to cooking.
I KNOW!
Note my ease and naturalness in with kitchen implements. I made macaroni and cheese, and as I said in the comments, if any normal person made that for Christmas Eve dinner, people would say, "Oh, is she dying of something? That poor thing. She cobbled together what she could." But when it's ME, my family was all. WOW! Get the CAMERA! There's FOOD in the kitchen and stuff!
I know, right? Who is a chef? Low expectations, people. You gotta underachieve and then everyone appreciates you when you don't.
Nothing says yuletide like pink plates.
After dinner, we went to my neighbor Peg's church because going to TinyTown just seemed like too far to drive after my mother and stepfather had driven 558549399 miles and all. Peg is a member of the choir and I know a lot of her fellow Preses--when she has parties, her church friends drink 7&7s, which they call a "Pres," as apparently it's the Presbyterian drink of choice.
It was a really fancy church, and the pastor had on Burberry pants, I am not making that up. Eventually they handed out candles and dimmed the lights, and as I do every year, I said, "I'm having an aneurysm." Because what's more hilarious than that?
Anyway, my mother turned to me and with the wisdom of Solomon said, "We're going to sing Silent Night now."
Really? Do you think?
I do not have kids. In case you hadn't noticed that. So maybe I am wrong about this theory. But I think if you spend a few years teaching someone how to wipe their arse and to, you know, not breathe under water and not put their tongues in sockets, it's hard to turn that off.
"I was thinking we'd all break into Beer Barrel Polka," I said, loving myself for that as much as I do my annual aneurysm joke.
At the end of church, they gave us all angel ornaments.
Isn't that the most beautiful sentiment?
Anyway, today we, you know, opened our gifts, as one is wont to do on Christmas morning. And if you read this blog and sent me a gift, could you email me your address? I got so many lovely things, and some of you said, "Open it right away" and some didn't, and I am just telling you I need everyone's address to write thank-you notes and I don't wanna leave anyone out. So could you just do me that large favor, please? Thank you. Otherwise I will feel guilty for the rest of time.
What would have been lovely is being able to put my gifts under the tree all this time, then anticipate what they could be, like, you know, normal people do. People who don't have Edsels.
However, I am a person who has an Edsel, so everything had to be traditionally piled on the piano and corner cabinet. Just like in the days of yore.
Oh, and this is apropos of nothing, but my mother brought a chair that belonged to my grandmother. When Grammy owned it, it was kind of a burgundy naugahyde, and if my friend Iain is reading, he may recall making out with Beth on it circa 1980.
Santa came to the dogs' stockings, and I wonder if this picture could be more violently all-Christmas-all-the-time. I took this about three hours ago and Talu is at my feet now, STILL CHEWING, and she managed to steal poor Edsel's bone and has that under her foot, too. Because she is full of the Christmas spirit.
Santa also came to my stocking, via me getting something for me and putting it in there. Oh! Was I surprised. As are all of you, I'm certain. Wait, it's pink? It's vintage-y? It has a cat on it? And girly flowers? Who would have KNOWN?
I also got myself this, because I adore me and I adored this cup. Both items I got at my friend Kit's store (Design Archives, because the three Greensboro readers who read this are going to STAMPEDE there and make her a millionaire, thanks to me and my plugging).
Other people other than beloved me got me gifts. Seriously. I am so easy to buy for. Is it pink? Does it sparkle? DONE! The bracelet is from Aunt Mary. The rings are from my stepsister.
And remember in the fall, when I so blatantly guilted my mother into giving me a mud-trapping rug? Got it. Note the destroyed candy cane already mussing it. No idea where Talu is and why she is not viciously guarding it. She is probably in the other room castrating Edsel over the other bone.
Okay, I must go shower now and continue with Christmas. I hope yours is going swimmingly, unless you do not celebrate Christmas, in which case I hope your Sunday is easy like Sunday morning.
When I started the "let's do good deeds at Christmas" project a few years ago, I was able to list them all. If I did that this year, you'd have to cancel your own Christmas or Cha-neww-ka or pagan ritual with your family and sit here and read my blog for 47 hours.
And that's good, don't you think? All over the place we were out there doing nice things for each other. Like we're you know, supposed to. So here is a smattering, and yes I just said smattering, of some of the things y'all went out and did as you were wandering around on this planet. If your personal deed that you reported isn't in here it was nothing personal. And if you want to read them all, just read the comments starting after Thanksgiving till now, and also read all the entries on Pie on the Face on Facebook. See above reference to no family time.
Without further ado, because your hair is fine the way it is and yes, that DID make zero sense, here are some of your good deeds:
Today I was sitting next to a little old lady traveling alone who had a Kindle that had accidentally rebooted back to factory settings, and she didn't know how to re-register it so she could access her books. I did it for her and she was so grateful.
At Zaxbys, I attached a kind card (on which I had written 'use this for yourself') to a $20 and dropped it off at a table with a mom and six kids and just walked away without a word. She looked like she really needed a break.
I brought in a lb of freshly ground snooty coffee and left it in the breakroom here at work. The usual coffee here is whatever is delivered in pre-measured envelopes.
We were sitting at a highway construction site where the guy stands with his stop sign on a pole until all the oncoming cars get through, then he waves you through. I had some miniature Hershey bars and Kisses in the car and as we crept by him I handed him a handful of chocolate. He beamed like a kid. It was so cute. He tucked them in his pocket and patted his pocket.
Bought a new rolling pin today for a little old man who was looking for one in our thrift store recently. (We had none that day.)
While downtown, I fed all the meters that were running low. I has a ton of change.
I was tutoring at the high school when a girl asked me if I had any lotion because her hands were so dry they were bleeding and none of the boys had lotion (we were in ROTC.) I did, so I gave her my (almost) new tube to keep.
I haven't done a RAoK on my own yet but did join a group from the office to adopt a family. We collected enough money to go above the suggested amount and got them all nice gifts. They haven't had any christmas presents for the last 2 years.
When the DISH tech guy was here today, he admired my horse door stop so when he left I gave it to him.
I paid for the person's meal behind me at Chick-Fil-A yesterday.
Yesterday I had a Christmas card delivered to my house that was meant for the elderly, widowed lady down the street. I walked it down to her house where I saw her newspaper still laying on the sidewalk at 5 p.m. I gave her the card and newspaper. She said she was afraid to go out to pick it up in all the rain we had yesterday for fear of falling. That was a teeny, tiny RaoK, but Ima set her newspaper on her porch table every morning from now on.
A lady came up to me in a parking lot and asked if I knew where a soup kitchen or church was, she was trying to get something to eat for her and her two girls. The man I was talking to told her he would buy them a meal, so I gave her forty dollars and she started to cry, now I wish I would have done more.
I was in a small aisle with a lady in a wheelchair cart. She saw me looking at some potholders that were out of her reach and she asked if I would mind handing her one of them. So I did.
I scooped up a little black pekingese that was lost and drove around harassing strangers for an hour until I found somebody who knew somebody who knew how to contact somebody who would have a way of finding the owner. The little smashed-in-face cutie is back with her family this evening.
I won an overnight stay at a local Holiday Inn. The room is a family suite with two queen beds and bunk beds. Since my children are grown, I gave the gift certificate to a friend with young kids. They will totally rock those bunk beds and the hotel pool.
The man behind us in line had no cash to pay for a meal and they didn't take credit cards. He looked a little down on his luck so I asked the lady if I could pay for his burger and twirly fries. He never knew it was me.
A friend I work with recently lost her mom and she's having a hard time with the holidays approaching. This week we have some shared responsibilities, and I took them on for both of us. She's off the hook!
I could tell by caller ID that the call was from a l.o.n.g. talker who is boring as hell but she lives alone and a long way away...so I answered it and just let her talk for a half hour.
I bought snacks for the person in line behind me at the gas station and I have gone out of my way to be extra friendly to cashiers when I go Christmas shopping.
I have an autoimmune disease and belong to a forum board for folks with said disease. I haven't been on it in many months. Last evening I logged on and responded to all the new postees who are just diagnosed and scared and looking for encouragement and connection.
Today I paid off someone's lay-away at K-Mart. There were toys and boots and a coat on the list for both boys and girls. It made me happy to do it.
My husband and I gave $60 to one of our employees who has a young daughter and no money for gifts. She just got away from a bad relationship, got her license (she is 24), is buying a house and has like $10 left after bills every week.
I gave money to a homeless person sitting on the corner at a busy intersection who was petting his adorable and sweet-looking pit bull.
After dancing till the wee hours with some friends, I sleepily agreed to go out to breakfast with them. Sitting next to us in a booth was a man I figured was homeless. He was and he hadn't eaten all day. The local shelters are all full and he was trying to stay warm (we're in Minnesota) till the Mall opened. I visited with him a bit, bought him breakfast, and left him with a gift card so he could stay in the restaurant all night.
I took 80.00 to Goodwill and asked the checker (I know her) to pass 20.00 to four different folks. Asked her to pick folks with kids.
Today at Petco adoptions, I met a little old lady with her little old dog. She said the dog had wandered up onto her porch, skinny and mangy, about a month ago. Dog's fur is coming back now and they are fast friends. The tail wags slow and content and continuous. The lady realized that her wallet was not in her purse, and was putting back the dog food and treats she had intended to purchase just as I walked up. She looked a little upset. I grabbed the treats and a bigger bag of the food and paid for them.
I was at the bank and the nice lady who is the head teller? She complimented my perfume, and I just happened to have a tiny bottle of it in my purse? So I gave it to her!!
A friend is going through a tough time with her boyfriend and I sent her an anonymous care package with chocolate, gummi bears, a girly movie (27 Dresses), and trashy magazines.
At a Starbucks before a business meeting a woman in the parking lot who looked very stressed stopped me & said, "Could you buy me a cup of coffee? My car was stolen & I'm waiting for the police." I normally would have thought scam & said no. But, honest to God, the words "June's blog" popped in my head. So I said yes & bought her the coffee. As I was leaving, the police pulled up & she was telling them her story. Thanks June for making me be nice & trusting!!
I stopped into the local Home Depot to pick something up, and saw this woman and the HD guy trying in vain to get her just purchased fake Christmas tree into her car. It was SO not going to fit. I appreciated that she was still being nice to him, even though she was obviously frustrated. I had him load it into my truck and I took it to her house for her and got it into her living room.
Yesterday when my sweet little 88 year-old retired undertaker friend brought me a poinsettia, instead of a handshake and smile, I gave him a smooch on the cheek. He was pretty happy, I think.
I went through the donation box and selected some nice new Q-tips and baby shampoo; it makes my hair soft...(Cosmo's Dad. A dink we can count on, year after year.)
What I enjoy about myself is my steely resolve and firm self-discipline. Have you met that? Really? Where is it?
Because I wasn't gonna TELL you about Virgin Merry Bailey Ingalls until she got here, which will not be till the frickin' THIRTIETH, and who lasted, oh, three hours before she spilled the beans on Pie on the Face, the Facebook fan page for this blog? Actually, Tallulah spilled the beans, so it wasn't my fault. Damn gossipy dog.
And every time I mention Pie of the Face, I feel the need to reiterate that I did not invent a fan page for my own damn blog. I am not even a member. Tallulah is. She just reads this blog to see her own picture.
you luk as hot as lu, you need to see self offen.
Let's not even TALK about how filthy that floor is. Who has to clean everything before her mother and stepfather get here this weekend? Who has to tear around like a dervish, getting actual food to put in the house because PopTarts are not good enough for my mother for Christmas dinner (humph! They were GOOD ENOUGH for Mary and Joseph. Read the BIBLE, mom), get my cousin's present in the mail because I finally don't have negative $660 in the bank, wrap gifts because I can finally buy wrapping paper. Please see ref. to negative $660 in bank.
And then I have to pop over the the shelter to visit Virgin Merry Bailey Ingalls. Who you probably wish I'd get to already. Oh, but before I do...
Aunt Peg, my next-door neighbor, brought toys over for the dogs yesterday, for Christmas. They each got their own toy then had to fight over them.
Peg and I had a good talk about Roger, as he used to crawl under my fence and into her yard, and hang on her deck. She would pet him and chat with him and she, too, thoroughly enjoyed his da-bomb self. It's always nice to talk to someone who loved someone you loved.
Okay, so anyway. At work yesterday, they let us go at 3:30 so we could commence celebrating Christmas and so forth. My coworker TinaDoris said, "Why don't we mosey on down to the shelter, you and me?" TinaDoris is about 25 and would say "mosey" as often as I say "Give me a big plate of cilantro" but you get my gist. "We can just look. We can just SEE what's down there," she said.
This is akin to asking Courtney Love to attend Attentionfest. Like in a million years I would say no to this offer. So we drive through the busiest streets imaginable, says the person who lived in LA for over 10 years, and get to the I'm glad to say packed shelter. I guess people wanted pets for Christmas.
We see this teensy gray kitten. You know I like me a gray cat.
Because I've been to the shelter 900 million times, I know the rules, so I reach in and get her out. She is one of those kittens who purrs immediately. And she crawled up in my neck and put her head in my hair and fell asleep.
Hello.
I noticed her eyes were skrinchy. She had a brother in the cage, a fluffy black-and-white thing whose eyes were wide open. In fact, he looked like nothing but trouble. "HI! Hi hi hi hi hi hi! HI! What doing!?? You gots my sister!??? We going somewheres? I gots big eyes. Hi!" So I knew there wasn't a cold or infection with the litter.
"What's up with this kitty's eyes?" I asked the volunteer.
"Oh, that one's special needs. She has underdeveloped eyes. She'll be able to see a bit, but she'll need to stay an indoor cat." (ahem) "Other than that she'll be able to get around pretty well."
The kitten had been purring in my hair for a while at this point. I had been stroking her white feets. "Will everyone want her? I mean, will everyone say, Ohhhhh. Special needs kitty. I want her!"
The volunteer blinked at me several times. "No, ma'am. No one will want her."
".....How do we start the paperwork?" I heard myself say. I mean, come on. What chance did I have?
The adoption process is probably only slightly less difficult than adopting a human. It took an hour. I had to show ID, promise I was not a devil worshipper (totally fooled them on THAT one), assure them I would not leave this kitty in the back yard on a chain (?), and so forth. In the meantime, her big-eyed brother was behind me in line, also getting adopted.
"HI! STILL HAS BIG EYES! WE GOTS CHRISTMAS TREE!??? CAUSE TOTLEE GOING UP DAT THING WHEN WE GETS HOME!"
I'm telling you. I have had cats my whole life, and that thing was adorable and 100% dick.
My kitty slept on me and chewed my necklace once she found it. While we were in that impermedipal line,
I came up with her brilliant name. Virgin Merry Bailey Ingalls. It's Christmassy, it acknowledges her, you know, not-so-sightyness, it's ludicrous, it's perfect. PERFECT! The shelter was calling her SugarPlum. Puleeze. We are just gonna call her Merry.
So, they can't spay her till the freaking 29th, and she can't leave till the 30th, and they are bugging me, is what they're doing.
