My cat, Kitty, birthed an inept baker's dozen (eight) kittens last night. I had no clue she was even prego. I was a little upset that I didn't get to go through the whole process of Juno with my cat. You know what I mean - the pseudo new-age way of disussing teen pregnancy. It probably would have gone something like this:
"Yo, owner, I'm pregos fo sho, u know!"
"I'm sorry, did you say something? All I heard was 'meow!'"
"Dint youz hear me? I gotta bun in the oven and no mitt! Ascootin you best get cuz yo carpet is all wet."
"I don't comprehend a word you're saying right now. Here's your milk."
"Fool, I can't drizzle that mizzle or my litter box'll be liquizzle. Anyhoo, I'm about to, honest to blog, birth the girth right outta yo wallet."
"Yeah, that's a good kitty. Run along now, you're staring at me again."
Can we get this animal an Academy Award? Not only did her steadfast weight gain decieve me, but every single one of her kittens are a different color, which leads me to believe she's a sexually rampant alley catstitute.
So now I'm stuck with finding a home for six of the babies. I'll keep one, the strongest of them all, of course, and one will go to someone at work. The rest, I hope to pawn off as christmas presents for people who seem to need the gift of responsibility. Hopefully they'll enjoy!
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