We got a kitten. A real cutie named Beemer after a sweet little ride we had back in the day. Har, har, har. If we really named him after one of our early cars, he’d be called Oldsmobile Firenza (with faux paneling on the side). When he came to his new residence, we took him straight to the basement so that Henry the Aging Dog wouldn’t find him and kill him.
This worked out pretty well until Beemer followed Mallie Bee up the stairs one night and said what the what people? He found out he likey sunlight and the Man Cave wasn’t fit for a lion wannabee such as himself. Once he entered the public domain, Henry was slow to realize that there was a friggin cat in the house. He’s a little hard of hearing, can’t see so well and packing a few pounds so he’d feel something near him (like a cat) and by the time he’d get his lard ass up and moving the cat would run off. He’d go back to sleep only to have it happen over and over until he figured out it wasn’t some kind of bad dream but a cat living in the compound. Poor, poor baby.
This is Beemer. He weighs about 2.5#
This is Henry. He weighs about 90#. This is where he sleeps most of the time (away from the friggin cat).
Nobody puts baby in a corner (unless you’re the new sheriff in town).