The Christmas season has now come and gone and life can go back to its normal routine. IF ONLY.
I can't remember if I told you about the cats we are babysitting, and I can't be bothered to scroll back and look right now so I'll just tell you again. If it is like a self-repeating record then it will just reinforce my extreme unhappiness at the situation.
We moved into our new house at the end of October. Exactly one week later, J's daughter called her dad up crying, saying the people who were taking care of her cats were going to take her cats to the pound if someone didn't come get them (and she was staying with someone else so couldn't take them there). J, good father that he is, totally ignored my extreme displeasure of having these cats in our brand new house, went to pick them up to come and visit with us for a few weeks. That was two months ago. On Christmas Day, the cat's REAL mother was here and casually let it slide into the conversation that she won't be getting her own place for at least another month. That was her way of telling us another month of kitty hell in our new house.
Now don't get me wrong, I like cats, I do, I really do.... in fact we have a cat. Borden. He's one of the gang along with our two dogs. (Its like a zoo around here.) You are thinking to yourself, "What's the big deal, you already have all those creatures running around, why is keeping two extra cats so hard?" Well I'll tell ya.
They ain't my cats! They should be at their own house, damaging cabinets, beating up on each other, and eating all the food they can locate.
I woke up yesterday morning to this:
Okay, I concede she's cute. But she needs to go home.