My precious furball was in the last of three portable trailers at the kill shelter, in the last stack of cages, in the cage one up from the bottom. I leaned over and said, "Hi sweetheart, don't you have a pretty face?" (And she did - deep grey, like a Russian blue.) Wily little thing that she is, she purred and stuck her paw out of the cage, which got her to the next round in the play room. In the playroom, I sat cross-legged on the floor. She came trotting over, jumped into my lap, curled up, and did that hopelessly cute paw-over-the-eyes thing. That sealed the deal. She got me to ignore that she was at least 5, had a chipped tooth, a scrawny kinky tail, and a floppy post-pregnancy belly. Yes, my fuzzball is the queen of shameless self-promotion. She's been a good buddy for 7 years now. :-)
2007-11-05
03:11:48
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29 answers
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Anonymous