I wonder what level you have to be to get so mighty a steed.
Look. This is going to be a mushy post. About a cat. If you don’t like it, don’t read it, and especially don’t comment. I’m not particularly interested in your disapproval right now.
About eight years ago, I was living in Toronto in the basement of the mother of my boss. My roommate at the time had a cat, Casey, a big bruiser of a tom, but rescued another — a kitten she found at a shelter, who as it turns out was the runt of her litter.
Oh holy shit, we’re talking honest-to-goodness internecene throwdowns happening all along the Great Atheist Rift! Crommunist fired the first shot, like Franz Ferdinand himself, declaring that anyone who likes cats must naturally be infected by toxoplasmosis, which is the only explanation why anyone would subject themselves the nonsense that is a cat’s existence.
My sister-in-law Teri, living in Georgia with her husband Shannon, has just rescued a ten-year-old cat she found near her place of employ. This kitty either ran away or was abandoned, was extremely sickly when Teri found her, and evidently has a lump on her thyroid.
Since Teri and Shannon have enormous hearts but only regular-sized wallets, the new cat’s vet bills are a bit onerous for them, and she put together a Facebook page and accompanying Fundrazr page to ask for help paying her vet bills.
So if you’ve got a spare dime, if you’re willing to downsize your Starbucks coffee from a Macro to a Normale (or whatever the hell the stupid size names are), throw it her way. Give this kitty a little comfort for her last few years.