Wipe Your Feet

This is Molly’s new kitten.  She is, in fact, the friendliest kitten I’ve ever met.  She chirps and flops over.  She has a cold and breathes with her mouth open and her tongue protruding.  She will pounce if you finger-tap.  She will pur in your lap.

Something about people getting their first pets makes me dissolve into emotion.  I am so gay for animals.  I cry every time I get one of those horrible mailers from the pound with the sad faces behind bars and stories about abandoned tortoises roaming the freeway, kittens in boxes, cats in the rain.  In this way I sympathize with Tony Soprano: everything wrong in the world gets eclipsed by the sad fate of his horse Pie Oh My.  Molly shoots some antibiotics into her kitten’s mouth and I’m like some old Irish grandpa when “Danny Boy” plays.