Requiem Aeternum, Harry. Poor baby.

Well, Harry didn't make it. He turned up half-dead on the back porch Saturday morning. The animal hospital tested him and told us that his kidneys were completely gone. Poor little guy. We had to let him go. The Boy and I bawled like babies for the rest of the day, and I was so incredibly puffy-eyed that I skipped church on Sunday, lest they think The Husband had been beating me.

We decided that we really missed having creatures underfoot, and went to "look at" the cats in the animal shelter on Sunday afternoon. Yeah. You saw it coming, didn't you? We are now the owners of two mostly-grown matching cats:




We still miss Harry terribly. The Boy started crying this evening. "These cats make me think of Harry!" Poor thing. But these are apparently lap cats and don't bite, so they're already two steps ahead of poor Harry. But for pure spastic joy, you just couldn't beat Harry.

I did find out the hard way not to shampoo that one on the left, though. The one on the right complained but didn't fight too much. (Hey, they smelled of nasty animal pee from the shelter -- I had no choice!) Anyway, the short version of the story is that I dropped him from about seven feet off the ground because that was as far from my face as I could hold him. But everyone's dry now and most of the bleeding has stopped, so I should toddle off to bed. Long day tomorrow.