Kalah Allen

June is Adopt-a-Cat Month, apparently. Please note: It's "Adopt-a-Cat Month" not "Adopt-a-Kitty Month." You may get a kitten, which up to reaching maturity can be called as such, but then it becomes a cat, not a "kitty." Do you play with dolls? Do you sell lemonade in front of your house? On the way home from school, do you get offered candy from strange men in Ford Festivas? No? Then don't call your fucking grown cat a "kitty." Don't give your domesticated animal some infantile, generic nickname that somehow imparts an eternal degree of cuteness to justify all the puke, ruined furniture, broken vases, inability to separate play from predation, and constant stink-eye after it stops being adorable. Don't kid yourself! Your precious "itty-witty-kitties" are the nation's most popular pets only because they're fucking cheap, plentiful, and never... ever... fucking die. Scan any city's craiglist ads to find dozens of desperate people trying to offload their burdens by the soggy, cardboard boxload. "Re-homing fee," my ass! Easier yet—just check behind the neighborhood dumpster for a free one. Careful, that garbage pet might bite and scratch, but it's just kitty-love! Enjoy doing the time, sucker—about 15 to 20 years you'll never get back!—Anonymous