emothy: (Default)
So. My parents are about four years old and are easily distracted by fluffy things. Namely newborn kittens. My dad's boss relocated to a farm and runs his business out of it now, and two of the farm-cats have just had litters of seven and five kittens. There are two ginger ones, and my dad wants them. And he's talked my mother into having them. When they're old enough to leave their mommee of course.

Now, how many cats do we have? Let me run through them for you;

1. Meg; 11 years old, grumpy grouchy bitchy tabby. God love her <3
2. Billy; 8 years old, dopey, whacked out, likes to stare at walls. Gender confused because he spent a good portion of his early life as "Lily". Tabby.
3. Bobby; 7 years old, nervous, scared of the hoover, a big daddy's boy who eats ice creams. Black and white.
4. Sooty; Five years old, given to us by family friends when the moved abroad. A big baby who whines for attention over the kittens.
5. Figaro; Not even one yet, a fat, Figgy-Piggy who eats EVERYTHING and thinks he such a big boy and still toddles when he walks. Tabby.
6. Cleo; Not even one yet either, dainty, tiny, tiddly little GIRLY who loves her mommee (me!) and licking people. Yes. Black and white.

Not to mention Boobah, who counts as #7 because even though he is next door's cat he practically lives with us now because he hates their new dog Ringo.

And my parents want to add two more kittens to this madness.

I think Meg will leave home. Really, I do.

Mum' already come up with (read; had ME come up with) names for them. Le sigh.
emothy: (suicidegirls; mary SMILE!)
CATSPAM! Or Kitten!spam :D

Figaro and Cleo... )

In other news, our whole street woke up at about half five this morning because there was a car on fire across the road from our house. Fricking scary dude.


emothy: (Default)

July 2015

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