I am never “fostering” anything again. Meet the fifth cat of my household:
Because my friend Jenn is a dirty, rotten, no-‘count LIAR that said if I’d just “foster” him overnight, she’d take him to her mother’s. Of course, he came into the house and burrowed his cute, fuzzy little ass into the very soul of every other member of the household (except Izby:
who HAAAAAATES him. Izby's been the littlest and cutest for too long to relinquish).
Jeff asked me three times last night, “Can’t we just keep him?”
Simba, the 70 lbGolden Retriever, just wants to carry him around in his mouth (which actually doesn’t seem to bother him, even if he ends up very, very slobbery) He is the coolest, most laid-back little dude you’ve ever seen. Unfortunately, I have to name him soon before he starts answering to “little turd,” which is what Jeff has been calling him.