When I got back from Vegas, newly acquired boyfriend* tugged my sleeve incessantly until I followed him into the bedroom, where my dresser was pulled away from the wall. I gave him quizzical eyebrows and he told me to manuever my way behind the dresser and look underneath. While I enjoy surprises, I didn’t like where this was going. I had little desire to see what could only be two years of dust and dog hair. He convinced me to take a peek.
Under the dresser was a firepoint white Persian (or Himalayan, I have no idea) cat. He was terrified.
After a moment of OMGWTF?! boyfriend opened the closet with what could only be described as a shit-eating-grin. There, tucked back behind the hanging clothes, on top of a shelf was a gray and white Persian. Or Himalayan.
(The tweakish firepoint is Mo. The grumpy old man is Furby. We intended to change their given names but what the hell, they work.)
I leave for one weekend and the boy seeks out his dream pet via Craigslist and ends up bribed into taking two-for-one, since the younger boy would be lonely without the older boy (his father).
I’d slap the motherfucker if I wasn’t COMPLETELY smitten:
How could I refuse these smashy, angry faces fluffin’ around like they own the place?
-CJ
*Officially official.
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[...] a very bright note, two weeks ago our near and dear fuzzy old man, Furby, drifted off into the night by way of the dog door. We’ve since posted about twenty color [...]
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