If you go back, way back to my very first livejournal entires, you can see wee little never, in her early twenties, living in the Concrete Bunker on Folsom Street, posting about her tiny black kittens, Ada and Perl. What you don't see in those entries is that I am in the grip of a black depression, and J has bought me these kittens because he
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<3
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We adopted a kitten in October, so the house is not entirely devoid of cats, but the new cat is very quiet and Perl meowed all the time, so the house feels very quiet.
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Sometimes I meet people who weren't horribly depressed in their early twenties and I feel vaguely embarrassed -- for them or me or both of us, I can never tell.
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Unsurprisingly, this set of feelings is why I don't have children. I cannot stand the idea that I might be a bad parent.
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Thanks you for the sympathies. I know you have old cat problems of your own.
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My baby brother is currently taking care of my grandmother's blind, diabetic dog. He and his girlfriend are deeply devoted, but they are also patiently waiting for this charmless and happy dog to die.
J has written a screen scraper for the SFSPCA that alerts us when black kittens come in, because he is an adorable geek. Kitten investigation will happen this weekend. Our other cat is less than a year old and I think he would benefit from a friend his age. This would also have the benefit of getting us a kitten that can imprint on J and love him as much as Perl did.
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