Sweatshirt and Battleship

So remember my last post about how I've just loved cats my entire life and how I've wanted to get one for a while?

Well... in May we finally got our first cat as an anniversary present to ourselves! She is fluffy and her name is Sweatshirt. Here she is sitting in my bag.

We got on a local classifieds site and found a family who had a bunch of kittens they were giving away. We contacted them in our blind excitement and drove to their house. Turns out these cat-dealers were really weird. They had SO MANY CATS. LIKE 15. (Which is why they were also coated in cat hair.)

We told them we were there for a kitten.  They brought her out, and I almost died of a cute-overload. I really felt like taking all the kittens away from these people, but...you know, that would have been CRAZY. 

We took her home and got her all set up. Soon we realized that she was really lethargic and sick, and kept having diarrhea. It was really sad and a little bit pathetic. When it didn't stop, we took her to the vet and it turned out she had worms. Which probably meant that all the other cats those people probably also had worms. Those people probably had worms.

Once we got the worm sitch all settled she finally started acting all playful like a normal kitten. We were SO HAPPY. 

And because the relationship Sean and I have revolves completely around enabling each other, we ended up getting another kitten.  

This is him. He's a Russian Blue, and his name is Battleship.  

CATS YOU GUYS. WE HAVE THEM. 

Since then, we've just had a blast basking in their cuteness. The only problem has been feeling like a fool whenever I have to yell their names when I'm trying to call them back to the house.

And that, well...that just makes me look absolutely insane. 

Moral of the story: Cats.