I'm running through Kleenex boxes like it ain't no thang

So, I'm single now. I got dumped.

That's all you get. Moving on.

I'm currently going through the process of applying to adopt a feral kitten. For those of you who don't know, that would make three cats in my apartment. You say Crazy Cat Lady like it's a bad thing.

A feral cat is essentially any cat you see not living with humans, who is a descendant of a domesticated cat.

For example: Idiot can't take care of animals properly. Drops their cat outside of the home. That cat breeds with other strays. Their kittens are feral cats. And that idiot should be shot. I would love to help with that.

The kitten I am interested in adopting is about 7 or 8 months old. Her name is Athena, and she was found in a box that was duct taped up at the dump. Whoever did this is obviously another person I'd be happy to shoot.

I'm adopting her through the local feral cat rescue in Fredericton. It's called Ca-r-ma, (Cat Rescue Maritimes) and you should definitely check out their website. They pick up feral cats, spay and neuter them to keep the population down, and sometimes even keep some in foster homes to wait for adoption.

I think I explained that correctly.

So, first, I fill out an application form. If that's approved, I get a trial run of 2 weeks with Athena, during which if I think my cats can't handle her or I can't handle her, or she can't handle us, I can send her back to the foster family.

Yeah. Like that would happen.

Well, there's what has been on my mind that I'm willing to blog about for this week.

Ciao.