I had to post this--hopefully this garners some laughs.
I'm a big cat fan. (All evil genius need a cat--Godfather? Check! Blofeld? Check! Putin? Check!). I get mine from the shelter. About 5 years ago our first cat passed away. We went to adopt a new cat at the shelter. We visited with several candidates and a female cat "Domina" chose us. So we agree to give her a home, shelter calls us after surgery "Yeah, your cat is not a she--its a he? Do you still want him?" Well since the cat chooses you, we had a deal and my word is bond (like it makes a difference). For the kids we had Harry Potter names--she was going to be Minerva, but he became Olivander aka Ollie aka Mr. Vanderpants.
Let me tell you about Ollie. That cat gave 0 fucks. He had had his jaw broken, leg broken, obviously had spent time on the streets. You had chicken? It was his chicken (He stole my daughters whole chicken sandwich once). You have Gyro Meat? Ollie has Gyro meat. You want to post on the hide. Ollie says no. I swear that big boy would sit on my hand and if I tried to move the mouse that giant ass paw would come out and "No"
Ollie would dash for the door if it opened. Ollie went walkabout around the neighborhood one day when I wasn't looking and cost me much grief. He came back like "What, I was gettin some tang foo!" That cat was so baddass and so I don't give a FUCK.....
Ollie died after a full life, in a big sunbeam after a full meal--liver failure from life on the streets, but he lived like king for 2 years with us and we loved every minute of it.
And I guarantee he would say "FUCK THAT BITCH, GO GET ME A SAMMICH"
babylonbee.com
with Valentina
