Begin the Beguine.

I have to start this dance off slowly and work my way into it, if you don't mind. Some of the stuff I put up, if I feel it's too personal, I'll take back down again. That's just going to be the way it is, unfortunately. The good news is, since that's my plan I may feel more free to give details about the summer that I ordinarily wouldn't.

So if you check back in on a post to read the comments and the entire post is gone, that's what happened. The comments will stay up for further discussion, but the post is going to be hidden over on the Blog Formerly Known As Prince One Good Thing.

Now, you may remember a certain young man's sporadic blog where he posted about getting a new kitty.

Yes. About that cat. Let me tell you more about that cat.

Back in June, Alex, Chris, and I were at Wal-Green's picking up a prescription, and we noticed the pharmacy was all in a tizzy.

"What's going on?" I asked, because I am nosy.

"Someone left a kitten in our bathroom!" gushed one of the techs. "A kitten, with half a bag of food and some toys!"

"A kitten!" I gushed back, because I am a sucker.

"Would you like to see her?" said the pharmacist, because he was an opportunist.

Cutting to the chase - because we got home and I walked through the door with a terrified kitten digging her claws into my skull, I wound up in the dog house for awhile. For about an hour, actually, until Steve petted her and she purred. Because he is a sucker, too, even though he won't admit it.

We named her Wally, because we found her in Walgreen's. We should have named her "Dell," because the money I had set aside to replace our old, buggy computer went instead to a hands-down adorable vet named Lisa McIntyre and her steadfast assistant, Sue.

Dr. McIntyre, god bless her, makes housecalls. She and Sue came over, used our office as an examining room, and checked out Wally and the other three cats, too.*

Wally turned out to have worms, fleas, and ovaries, all of which had to be removed, so everybody else had to be treated for worms and fleas as well.**

The cat integration was somewhat rocky at first. Wally hid underneath the file cabinet for days, hissing and spitting at any cat who came within ten yards of her. Bobby and Cindy accepted her with their usual Whatever, Dude, but Belt felt the need to teach her to show him the proper respect.

Eventually they all got used to each other, but Belt and I never did succeed in teaching her manners.

This cat is such an asshole, you guys.



This is a photo I took of her about fifteen minutes ago. It was the 8th or 9th attempt, because she never sits still. She is devoted to the art of attacking our feet, and she lies in wait for us until we walk by, then she shreds the shit out of us. And she bites. And she shits in my guest room if there is any poo in the litter box. And she is oblivious to the Spray Bottle of Death, deciding that she actually likes having her head soaked, thanks. She ate my fake plant in the office and threw it back up in the dining room. She convinced Alex there was a monster under his bed, because she hid under there and made rustling noises until he got out of bed, afraid, then she attacked his feet and scared the bejesus out of him. She jumps up on the kitchen counter right in front of me and tries to drag raw chicken off the counter to god knows where.

She is ungrateful, people. Ungrateful.

I tried to return her to Walgreen's, but the same pharmacist who suckered me into taking her told me I couldn't return her unless I had a receipt, and he would not give me store credit.

But every night, when I'm watching TV alone downstairs, she creeps over and curls up next to my head to keep me company. She doesn't bite. She doesn't scratch. She just purrs, and purrs nicely.




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*Everybody held up very well through the exams and shots, except for Bobby. Bobby now weighs about 25 pounds, most of it fur but the rest of it muscle and claws, and he wasn't picking up what Dr. McIntyre was putting down. At all. The three of us, Dr. McIntyre, Sue, and I, tried to give him a thorough exam, but actually had to give up trying to weigh him because he abruptly turned into a whirling, screaming panther and sliced us to bits. Then he ran and hid upstairs and I couldn't find him. I had badly misjudged the personalities of my own cats. I really thought Cindy would be the worst, because she is the most skittish, and Bobby would be the best, because he is typically the sweetest, but not so. Cindy was great. Bobby, not so much. Belt handled the exam with his usual cerebral dignity, then went and peed in the downstairs toilet, just in case we were not aware who the best cat was.

**Dr. McIntyre did not use our office as an operating room. I took Wally to a nearby vet's office and had her girly bits zapped out with lasers.