I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this here before, but I have two cats. I don’t talk about them often because I’m THIS CLOSE to being the crazy cat lady. The fact that I’m 30, single, and that my social life revolves around my ability to get home to stick Boo, the diabetic one, and feed Belle, the other one, by 7:00 p.m. places me precariously on the edge of just plain sad. You know that old joke about the dead woman whose face is eaten off by her hungry cats? Yeah, I’ve laid awake at night thinking about that one. HiLARious.

Fortunately, I think my days of fearing a postmortem dental identification made necessary by neglected cats are just about over. (And not because I’ve been threatening to give Belly away because she keeps pooping in the kitchen.) So I can fully embrace this site, which an old boyfriend, T, sent me. Old T lived with my cats before, and can speak first hand about how Boo is the cutest, most cuddly, friendly-to-the-point-of-whorishness cat on the planet. I’m gonna go ahead and save the cats on Kitten War the humiliation by not sending in my kitties’ pictures. Because I already know who would win.

And now, feel free to ridicule me. Please note, however, that at no point in this post did I use the word “widdle” or “pookey.” Nor did I say the phrase, “He’s not fat, he’s just diabetic.”

Kitten War

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