Jul 06, 2009 00:59
So we have a cat now.
Friday morning, I hear Leslie scream. "OMG guys, come out of your rooms right now!" "Meow meow meow." A cat popped out from under her bed. How did it get there? We have no fucking idea. No open windows, front door closed, no cat-sized holes in the walls (that we know of). My mom is convinced that she ran in the front door at some point when one of us was coming in or out with a big load of stuff or something.
The good thing is, she's an awesome cat. Well-behaved, affectionate, litter box trained, healthy. We made a mad dash to put up fliers and post on Craigslist and such, and the owner did contact us. They told us that they didn't want her and they would take her back but were just going to bring her to a shelter. So we're hanging onto her until we find her a good permanent home, which will probably be Jamie's boyfriend. Oh, and we renamed her Dahlia.
My mom 100% believes that we should keep the cat ourselves and that it would be "good for me." OK, like having a cat is going to guarantee that I eventually give her some grandchildren?