In Uncategorized on May 29, 2010 at 12:17 am


I blame the beer.

We met up with our friends Adam and Allison for happy hour. The Harris Grill, a great place for after-work pints.  It wasn’t long that Adam and Allison told us about their discovery: Recently they’d found a litter of kittens under their porch. Three baby cats, each colored white and orange.

Two hours later, we were leaning over a cardboard box in their bedroom, ogling the tiny felines. They slept in a pile, then broke apart to forage for food. They scratched at their litter and rolled onto their backs.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible for a red-blooded homo sapiens to walk away. Especially after four pints of hopsy brews. Ky and I hummed and hawed. We already have a cat. We have no time. What if the new cat ended up with worms, or leukemia?

But if I have a weakness, it’s newly-opened kitten eyes. We zeroed in on the tiniest of the three — a clumsy little thing nicknamed “Runty.” We decided to try a visit to the vet, and if Runty was given a clean bill of health, we’d keep him.

Well, her.

Since we’d already settled on the name Felix — to complement our first cat, Oscar — Felix she would be. Latin Club geeks will recognize felix as the third-declension noun for “cat.” Most people suggest other names, but we’re steadfast. Felix is rapidly growing up in our bathroom, her placid life occasionally interrupted by sparring sessions with Oscar. So yes, I blame the beer for all this fuzzy good-will. One more Victory Hop Devil, and we’ll end up being Octomoms.


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