Willie came with the house.  After we got burglarized the second time, we gave up the urban life in Montrose and moved to the burbs.  Well to Bellaire. We bought a nice little ranch house on a quiet street.  We brought our Rottweiler and outdoor cat with us.  It wasn’t long before we noticed this mangy, gray tabby hanging out at our back door.  It seemed like he belonged.  Like he had some claim on the place.  He took a liking to us.  I can’t say the feeling was mutual.  He was not an attractive cat.  His bones showed.  His skin was as scabby as a leper.  His belly was distended like some starving street urchin. And he had a mean streak.  But he was encamped.  He wasn’t going anywhere so we really had no choice.

Once we got all moved in, I turned my attention to this grotesque cat who simply would not go away. I dropped him off at our gay vet, Dr. McKnight, on my to work.  I said, please fix this cat’s skin. It’s disgusting.  He poked around the cat’s distended belly and said that he couldn’t treat the mange while she was pregnant.  Momentarily surprised by this turn of events, I said, “get rid of them.”  (OK, I’m a dyed in the wool pro Lifer, but hey, it was just a cat).  I told him I’d pick her up on my way home from work.

Later that day I got a call from the vet’s office.  “Ms. Sloas, I’m sorry, but this has only happened to me once before, ever, I mean it.  I went in to spay her and she was already spayed.  I’ll only charge you half price.”  You have got to be friggin kidding me.  I said, “what was it that you thought were kittens”.  “Constipation”.  

Our menagerie, Buck, YoYo and Willie II