The Final Countdown

is more than just a horrible old song by the (former, I hope) band Europe, it's the mode I'm in this morning as I approach the 12:00 hour and Vincent's introduction to Missy and my home.

This morning I noticed Sophie having a good scratch at her cat scratchy-thinger and realized that I needed to add one of those to the ever-expanding list of cat paraphernalia I need to finish purchasing. So far it's something like this:
Adoption fee, seventy dollars
Litter box, thirty dollars
Cat door, seventeen dollars
Cat litter, ten dollars
Cat litter scoop, three dollars
Cat brush, five dollars
Watching Vincent love his new home and Missy, priceless

Well, that's the dream. When I visited Vincent Wednesday after work, I learned that the cat I was originally interested in, Sancho Panza, had been returned to the humane society less than two weeks after his adoption. Sancho was a beautiful short haired Hemingway polydactal or whatever they're called; anyway he has six toes. I looked at Vincent sitting in his cage looking adorable, and for a moment there I was almost fickle. Sancho Panza had a lot going for him, after all: shorter hair, redder fur, six toes. And just as Vincent looked up at me with his round face and big (yellowish) eyes, the dude said that Pancho had been returned because he couldn't get along with the family's dog. Silly Pancho, he blew it. I hope Vincent learned a lot from hearing that conversation.

Okay, gotta go. Gotta start planning my day, which includes showing two teenagers how to clean up my yard. So middle class, I am.

Happy Easter to all of you (if there are any of you) who read this blog.

MNYAGG