I know. I know, I know. I know y’all want us to keep Rambo and Jodie, and my god, the little brats have got me wrapped around their little paws, and I’m sorry to disappoint, but we cannot keep them. Which is not to say that I’m going to give them up one moment before I absolutely have to, but they really are going to be put up for adoption, and let me tell you why.
Right now, in our situation, we can totally afford the vet bills. But the thing is that at some point in the future, Fred’s job may possibly disappear – he does contract work for a government agency, and that’s a somewhat iffy position to be in – and at that point, we’ll have at least two cats who are on the elderly side, and we just flat-out won’t be able to afford to pay the thousands we currently pay most years when they need emergency surgery or trips to the emergency vet or whatever pops up.
However, I’ll continue playing the lottery in hopes that we strike it rich and at that point, with millions of dollars in our pockets? The sky is the limit, baby! We’ll not only adopt two hundred cute little squeaking kittens, we’ll also hire someone to clean up after them. Whoo!
Nothing new going on with the kittens, though I haven’t let them out of their room yet this morning because I wanted to eat breakfast first without a little kittenhead popping up in the way and scarfing down my scrambled eggs.
You know what Rambo ate the other day? A popcorn kernel. He spotted it and scarfed it up before I could stop him. I was worried it might mess up his digestive system, but I can report that I saw it in the litter box. Ugh.
It’s rough work being a kitten, but someone’s gotta do it.
Mister Boogers’ reaction to giving Rambo a bath.
Jodie, in a high state of dudgeon.
“Brian Harper isn’t quite the highbrow literature I’m accustomed to. Got anything by Sneaky Pie Brown and that woman who’s riding his coattails?”
I love this picture.
Jodie keeps a wary eye on her brudder.