Strength in Numbers

There comes a time in every family's life when decisions must be made. When the petty bickering and every day disagreements that make up the white noise of our day-to-day existence must be drowned out, turned down, muffled. When we must pull together as a unit and face the onslaught that is life. The raging torrent of darkness that washes the light into gutters of malice.  The World at large. We stand in that torrent as a family. We embrace one another and hold tight and hope. And love. And maybe that torrent breaks around the bulwark of our collective soul. Maybe the strength of our bond redirects the hungry current and the waters find easier prey. Maybe, just maybe, we get a new kitty.

Which we did. Get a new kitty. We're back up to three now. I don't know why we need three kitties. Maybe it's in case the other two get drafted. She's about four months old and appears thus far to be full blooded Siamese. We found her online on a local animal shelter website and jumped all over that shit. 

You know how hard it is to find an actual full-blooded Siamese cat at an animal rescue? Imagine how hard it would be to find a Unicorn or one of Bill Gates's kids at an orphanage. But there she was, so we grabbed her. 

It wasn't easy. We had to give references and work numbers. We were in competition with another woman. We won because we have another young cat and because we stole our competition's identity and ran up her credit cards betting on Siamese cat fighting rings. 

She is cute as hell and after kicking around on the streets for a bit, she'll eat anything, anywhere, at anytime. So far upon waking in the morning I've found an empty can of Pringles, a mangled cereal box, and a dozen cracked and empty eggshells. The weird part is, we don't even eat Pringles. 

We got her because we lost both our other Siamese over the last two years or so (I really need to update the characters list), and my wife really missed having one in the house. You know, because they yowl like babies and demand to be spoiled, so who wouldn't want that kind of per around?

We let the kids name her. Sometimes, families make mistakes. We let the kids name her and here's what they came up with: the cat's name is Ivy Pickles. Seriously.  That shit is like, Brady Bunch precocious. I don't know how I feel about referring to a living thing as Ivy Pickles for the next 15-20 years, but what choice do I have. The Family has spoken.

I wish I had pics to post, but I don't. I will as soon as I have them. Be warned, she is really frigging cute.

In other news, We went to our first at the movie theater movie this week. I wrote about it over at DadCentric.

HM