I made all those statements: "Over my dead body." I remember it very clearly.
But there it is. Black and white. Whiskers. It's a cat. There's a saucer of milk out my back door. Where did I go wrong?
She even has a name. Chloe. Chloe the Cat. Caleb and Maddie follow her around all day.
Katie made her a house. Oh dear.
2 comments:
I feel your pain. I hope I never have to live in my dead body with a cat. In addition to "over my dead body," I have added the condition, "If you get a dog/cat/llama/bunny/whatever, I get a gun." I think that credible threat is the only thing that staves off the inevitable. But what happens when the little girls don't appreciate the gun quid por quo as much as my wife does?
I think I am doomed to join the living dead. Brook keeps telling me that someday a cute little daughter will ask for a puppy with big eyes and I will crumble before her. Maybe I should try the gun counter-threat...
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