05 September 2006

It's funny how a little creature with no ability to really understand you can bring so much happiness to your life. For those of you who don't know (and I'm really stretching here to believe that anyone continues to read this page, especially following my diatribe against blogs), I recently (within the last month), acquired a kitten. He's a mixed breed, but he's full of Siamese goodness. He has dark ears, dark paws, a dark tail, and those beautiful blue Siamese kitty eyes that, upon my acquisition of him, were infected, along with his ears, intestines, and probably everything from his upper respiratory to lower GI tract. But he's better now, or rather, he was until today, when he was drugged and underwent declawing and Bob Barker surgery.

The point of all of this is, sadly, that it turns out I'm a huge softy. Despite my coarse, uncaring exterior, I love my kitty. I play with him all the time (when he's not drugged) and let him lick the tops of my Sam Adams bottles. He's been in Des Moines for the past few days (part of my desire to have him blame my parents for the disappearance of his testicles and not me), but now I want him back. And by now, I mean NOW. He's so damn cute. He's a hell of an alarm clock, too. I need to wake up early tomorrow and he's not here. What the hell will I do? Oh well.