At some point this summer, probably as a consequence of spending too much time alone, (in my defense, I was working hard at my creative pursuits, a great way to avoid interaction with real people) I began to experience an overwhelming, yearning, burning desire for kittens. Because let's face it, sometimes, well, don't you want somebody to love? Don't you need somebody to love?
At first I tried to ignore the kitten cravings, telling myself, "I don't need kittens, they won't make me happy, in fact they'll probably be a hindrance on my trajectory to fabulous achievement of whatever!" But the kitten lust didn't fade, and once I accepted that the longing in my heart was true and not merely a passing phase, I began scheming about how to lure kittens into my life.
I tried to be laissez-faire. I felt that I ought not to pursue these kittens, that if kittens and I are meant to be together, its best to let them happen naturally. After all, you can't seem to turn around without stepping on a few cats in Brooklyn, so I felt certain that some would come to me. Any would do, provided we were led together by some magical means beyond my control or pitiful mortal understanding. I sought kittens by meditation upon them: come, ye kittens, come to me!
I waited. The kittens didn't come. No kittens in a basket on my doorstep. No kittens leaping into my adoring arms from thin air. The kittens of Brooklyn could apparently look after themselves. I made eyes at a few haggard strays, with promises of security, undying love and unlimited cat food. No takers. I grew weary of waiting for fate to do my work for me: I decided to take matters into my own hands, to go out there and grab me some kittens!
Now that magic and failed me and was therefore out of the picture, I had a much more specific agenda for the kittens I wanted. They had to be about 6 to 10 weeks old, young and innocent enough, not to mention desperately alone enough, to need my tender care and to therefore become hopelessly bonded with me, paralyzed into totalitarian domestication by the memory of the cruel cold world from whence they came. We'd live happily ever after, forever! Also, I would prefer a redheaded kitten, or maybe a brunette, or maybe one of each. And they must be shorthaired, flea-less and clean, and not have any unpleasant diseases.
And now, how to acquire these ideal kittens? I thought about visiting "the Pound", but knew that if I saw all those helpless little kittens in the warm flesh, my accursed bleeding heart would shine through its prison of mundane desire: I would want to save each and every one of them, whether they were green-eyed brunettes or a bunch of wormy one-eyed calicoes, and I would wind up a crazy old cat lady long before my time. So instead, I did what one usually does in this day and age when stricken with a desire. I consulted the Internet.
I spent hours perusing internet profiles of various available kittens who were being fostered until permanent homes could be found. According to their photos and descriptions, all of the orphan kittens seemed indisputably charming, cute and uniquely wonderful. The array of choices was dazzling, like the shampoo aisle some grandiose drugstore. I made some calls. I visited many foster homes, which are usually run by somewhat misguided good Christians or aging parents with empty nest syndrome, to make the acquaintance of the kittens.
To my disappointment, the kittens I visited turned out to be much shabbier than their descriptions, not to mention older and sometimes even bad-tempered, and there was nearly always some illness or issue that had not been disclosed in the kittens' online resume. For example, in one instance, the kitten was downright hostile, hissing and scratching my adoring hand, when its pet search profile had described it as being "Very sweet, just needs socialization". Another one was supposed to be a wee clumsy dumpling of 5 weeks, but turned out to be an aloof teenaged minx of 5 months who glared at me in suspicion from a corner. In general, the mangy kittens I met bore little resemblance to their head-shots, which were probably photoshopped, and most of them had lied about their age.
Lesson learned: its entirely too easy to make oneself seem appealing on the Internet, and to dupe some fool into taking you in. Psychological manipulation is a cinch, you've just got to make someone feel like they will die alone and unloved if they don't save you. Its also easy to make oneself be apparently younger, fluffier, and more innocent than one really is, with a few camera tricks and a few white lies.
I have since given up my quest for kittens via the Internet, I'm just going to live my life as I have been, without kittens, for the time being: hell, I'm going to tuck in my shirt and go down to the corner saloon right now to drown my sorrows, and if any kittens happen to cross my path on the way, maybe they'll get lucky. Meanwhile, in case anyone is curious about the author of this fine work of writing, I don't have a photo to post at the moment but, I am 23 years old, I'm 5 feet two inches tall and weigh about 109 pounds, I have red hair and blue eyes and no visible imperfections, I like long walks on the beach, I'm a fantastic cook, I'm moderately intelligent but certainly not as sharp as you, I love watching football, basketball or any kind of ball that you like, I would just love to get together and have a nice deep petting session with at least one, but preferably two, adorable, robust, feisty yet sweet and affectionate, fluffy young kittens.
At first I tried to ignore the kitten cravings, telling myself, "I don't need kittens, they won't make me happy, in fact they'll probably be a hindrance on my trajectory to fabulous achievement of whatever!" But the kitten lust didn't fade, and once I accepted that the longing in my heart was true and not merely a passing phase, I began scheming about how to lure kittens into my life.
I tried to be laissez-faire. I felt that I ought not to pursue these kittens, that if kittens and I are meant to be together, its best to let them happen naturally. After all, you can't seem to turn around without stepping on a few cats in Brooklyn, so I felt certain that some would come to me. Any would do, provided we were led together by some magical means beyond my control or pitiful mortal understanding. I sought kittens by meditation upon them: come, ye kittens, come to me!
I waited. The kittens didn't come. No kittens in a basket on my doorstep. No kittens leaping into my adoring arms from thin air. The kittens of Brooklyn could apparently look after themselves. I made eyes at a few haggard strays, with promises of security, undying love and unlimited cat food. No takers. I grew weary of waiting for fate to do my work for me: I decided to take matters into my own hands, to go out there and grab me some kittens!
Now that magic and failed me and was therefore out of the picture, I had a much more specific agenda for the kittens I wanted. They had to be about 6 to 10 weeks old, young and innocent enough, not to mention desperately alone enough, to need my tender care and to therefore become hopelessly bonded with me, paralyzed into totalitarian domestication by the memory of the cruel cold world from whence they came. We'd live happily ever after, forever! Also, I would prefer a redheaded kitten, or maybe a brunette, or maybe one of each. And they must be shorthaired, flea-less and clean, and not have any unpleasant diseases.
And now, how to acquire these ideal kittens? I thought about visiting "the Pound", but knew that if I saw all those helpless little kittens in the warm flesh, my accursed bleeding heart would shine through its prison of mundane desire: I would want to save each and every one of them, whether they were green-eyed brunettes or a bunch of wormy one-eyed calicoes, and I would wind up a crazy old cat lady long before my time. So instead, I did what one usually does in this day and age when stricken with a desire. I consulted the Internet.
I spent hours perusing internet profiles of various available kittens who were being fostered until permanent homes could be found. According to their photos and descriptions, all of the orphan kittens seemed indisputably charming, cute and uniquely wonderful. The array of choices was dazzling, like the shampoo aisle some grandiose drugstore. I made some calls. I visited many foster homes, which are usually run by somewhat misguided good Christians or aging parents with empty nest syndrome, to make the acquaintance of the kittens.
To my disappointment, the kittens I visited turned out to be much shabbier than their descriptions, not to mention older and sometimes even bad-tempered, and there was nearly always some illness or issue that had not been disclosed in the kittens' online resume. For example, in one instance, the kitten was downright hostile, hissing and scratching my adoring hand, when its pet search profile had described it as being "Very sweet, just needs socialization". Another one was supposed to be a wee clumsy dumpling of 5 weeks, but turned out to be an aloof teenaged minx of 5 months who glared at me in suspicion from a corner. In general, the mangy kittens I met bore little resemblance to their head-shots, which were probably photoshopped, and most of them had lied about their age.
Lesson learned: its entirely too easy to make oneself seem appealing on the Internet, and to dupe some fool into taking you in. Psychological manipulation is a cinch, you've just got to make someone feel like they will die alone and unloved if they don't save you. Its also easy to make oneself be apparently younger, fluffier, and more innocent than one really is, with a few camera tricks and a few white lies.
I have since given up my quest for kittens via the Internet, I'm just going to live my life as I have been, without kittens, for the time being: hell, I'm going to tuck in my shirt and go down to the corner saloon right now to drown my sorrows, and if any kittens happen to cross my path on the way, maybe they'll get lucky. Meanwhile, in case anyone is curious about the author of this fine work of writing, I don't have a photo to post at the moment but, I am 23 years old, I'm 5 feet two inches tall and weigh about 109 pounds, I have red hair and blue eyes and no visible imperfections, I like long walks on the beach, I'm a fantastic cook, I'm moderately intelligent but certainly not as sharp as you, I love watching football, basketball or any kind of ball that you like, I would just love to get together and have a nice deep petting session with at least one, but preferably two, adorable, robust, feisty yet sweet and affectionate, fluffy young kittens.
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