That's A One Next To Another One

11 years ago last night I got very drunk and that's where babies come from the end.

The first part is true. It was an accident and I was very sick and it was dangerous and I have kept from doing such a thing ever since.

When one has made oneself so sick it's hard to determine what that noise is that won't stop and you've heard it somewhere before but where is a mystery and good god it's coming from under the bed!

A couple of months before I'd adopted a cat that the neighbor, a seasoned animal rescuer, had scooped up off the street. A few weeks before she'd gotten a bit clumsy and the other tell tale signs fell into place.

11 years ago this morning I was finally able to process that a litter of 5 kittens had been born under my futon frame while I was passed out.

Two of those cats, Anna and Elvis, continue to live with me. Charlotte, the mother who turned out to be more than a little insane, and another kitten, Mariah, live in the country (comparatively) with my mother. Max, always the biggest of the litter, lives with Pony Express.

Pinto, who had never been separated from Max his entire life, passed away unexpectedly early last year. It's still amazing to me that he'd be the first to go though, upon reflection, he was always the most independent. (Also smart and possibly a little evil but in the most fascinating way.) We miss him a lot.

Elvis is the million dollar cat. He was diagnosed at the age of 4 with a relatively severe heart murmur and has been accumulating health problems that trickle down from that condition ever since. I was told at diagnosis to expect him to live 2-3 more years with the proper diet and medication.

So, the kits, as we prefer to refer to them, are 11 today and, given the noises that woke me up this morning, they don't show signs of slowing down. Their breath and their attitudes are pretty rotten but other than that they're in fine fettle. I look forward to telling you that again next year.