The Skinny Kitten Story (In Which I Am Both A Liar And A Kitten Thief)

new cat 2

The above photograph was taken on Wednesday night. There is an awfully skinny, freaked out rag of a kitten inside that pet carrier, and the other two cats (Onion on the left and Oskar on the right) are simply awfully freaked out.

I do not know exactly why, but the story behind how that skinny kitten came to be shoved into a pet carrier in my living room is one I am uncomfortable telling, which, really, if you look back at my recent story about my vibrator, which was written at my parents'-in-law house *, does not intuitively make sense. Of course, I owned the object in question in the vibrator story, but I do/did not own the object in question in the skinny kitten story.

Let's get one thing clear before I go on. I feel that I must confess to the climax of the story before the lead-up, which is really going to kill all of the suspense, but so be it.

A couple of friends and I stole the cat. To be honest, it was not solely my idea, but when faced with leaving a shivering kitten with a messed up large man who was trying to sell her for beer money at a pub or making off with her down the street, the decision seemed pretty clear.

I think I will just keep moving backwards from the middle of the story, and when I get to the beginning, I will jump ahead to the point pictured in the photograph above, just so's we're all clear on how this thing's going to roll.

Anyway, I was holding this kitten, and she was shaking so hard that her whole body was making a sound from her vibrations. This was not a purring sound. This was a racket of bones and muscle from a starving animal who was terrified of being carried down the street and handed to strangers. This means that I fell in love with her immediately and decided that I had to keep her for my very own, because this is how I come to choose all my pets. If an animal is scared, abused, starving, overweight, or rejected by others of its kind, I take them home, and, on one occasion, I even named a mean, outcast zebra finch George.

I want this kitten, I said to him. How much will you give me? he asked. How much do you want? I asked. Twenty bucks, he said. Then, he put on this little display in a babyish voice to impress me with how much he loved this little kiddy widdy, and he made me promise that I would name her Muddy. I said that I would knowing full well that I wouldn't. I lied.

Before that is kind of blurry in my memory, because last Wednesday was a normal Wednesday like many others before it, and it only became a point of focus when a large man messed up on drugs, alcohol, or both walked up with a terrified kitten on his shoulder. I noticed that one of his eyes had drooped more than the other since the last time I had seen him around, and that is when I started remembering everything.

I think I wanted to steal the kitten from the moment I saw it, even before the stealing-the-kitten plan fell together with my two friends and we found ourselves speed-walking up the street and around the corner as part of the ruse that we were going to take money out of the bank to give to the cretin who was trying to sell a kitten for beer money. We believed that the kittens-for-beer industrial complex had to be brought down, and that meant theft of a kitten. We were like modern day Robin Hoods, only our goal was not to steal from the rich and give to the poor but to steal kittens from the intoxicated and keep them for ourselves.

new cat 1

And this brings us to this second photograph of the skinny kitten in the pet carrier, into which she was shoved so that the large males of the house could check out what the hell was going on without having their eyes gouged out.

Alright. I just said the eye-gouging bit for dramatic effectrf8t cccccccccccccccccuy7x. (The new kitten just hopped across the keyboard, so I thought I would leave that part in. Translated, that says OH HAI, I TYPES GUD. SEE?) This new kitten is more of a hisser and a yowler. You are more likely to get spit in your eye than anything else.

new cat 3

And that black bit up there? She is tiny. Just look at the Palinode's jeans pocket for proportion.

Oh, and another thing? You will notice that the kitten is sitting next to the Palinode. They like each other, and he has not shown any noticeable amount of animosity toward me with regard to the spontaneous addition of a third cat to this family, even though we live in an APARTMENT and do not have two or three floors over which to distribute all the critters. We just love crowding them into five rooms like a badger exhibit at the zoo.

We are still trying to name her. The Palinode says David Tennant! I say No! The Palinode says A. A. Ferret, as in Actually A Ferret! I say Absolutely not! The Palinode says Beef Texan! I say Wha-huh? I figured that since we had covered animal (Oskar, a human name) and vegetable (Onion), we should probably cover minerals to round the trio out, but names like Boron and Astatine just do not float our respective boats.

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In short:

  • 1 intoxicated man selling 1 terrified kitten for beer money = 2 cogs in the kittens-for-beer industrial complex
  • 2 cogs in the kittens-for-beer industrial complex ⁄ 3 soft-hearted, thieving liars = 1 good deed (I swear)
  • 1 good deed = five mammals in an APARTMENT.
  • I tried to draw up a chart to illustrate the complexity that is the kittens-for-beer industrial complex, but I ran out of paper somewhere around the Caspian Sea, and then I spilled coffee on the part about kitten-smuggling in northern England and its ties with indigenous groups in Yucatán, so you will just have to research it for yourselves.

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    * I put one part of a sentence beginning with which inside another part of a sentence beginning with which, which must be wrong, and then in that same sentence I put to myself the difficult task of having to indicate that the house belonged to my parents-in-law with an apostrophe that I am not entirely confident about. Are you confident about the apostrophe in "my parents'-in-law house"? Part of my brain wants to tell me that I am right, while the other part of my brain tells me that I'm fucked.