Currently with three children, I'm at capacity and not one more living thing would stand a chance around here.
That being said, we have a cat.
Back in 2003, not only was I a pet person, I was also, obviously, an insane pet person as I shelled out $300 for a cat. That's not a typo - $300.
Justin and were newlyweds. We were young. We were most certainly ripped off.
We found a woman who ran a cattery. Yes, a cattery. This is a real thing or might just be a fancy name for a feline hoarding facility.
After driving two hours to pick up our new little fur-ball, we discovered that the cattery, located in Washington Indiana, was a mobile home in a trailer park.
We knocked on the door, and we were nearly knocked off the steps as a cloud of smoke rolled out to meet us along with the woman who lived inside the Marlboro and cat-piss scented trailer.
She motioned us inside - where we met by at least 30 cats. As we were politely shaking cats from our legs and brushing them off our laps, she yelled for her husband to bring out the kitten.
We then cut the check, got the papers and got the hell out.
I did, however, ask her one question before we left - I just had to know.
"How many cats do you have?" I asked.
She answered me with "I never tell anyone my number."
I'm pretty sure thats because she, herself, had no idea.
On the way home, we discussed a name for our new pet.
Justin decided that since he was pure-bred and had papers that he should have a royal sounding name. I told him there wasn't anything royal about that cat's roots and that we should name him Bubba, but he persisted and named him Prince William. I'm not kidding.
However we call him Willie.
Willie was soon diagnosed with ringworm, herpes and an undescended testicle. Yep, our $300 pure-bred was a parasite ridden, std carrying, one ball-rocking dud of a feline.
Meet Willie - the toughest thing to come out of a trailer park since Eminem.
|Willie, he just rocks one ball, but he's still got swagger.|