There’s a pen in the back corner of the park I live in where humans take their dog children to do their business, and there is a dumpster not too far from the pen. I was taking my spotty fur child out the other night, and as we approached the pen, six (yes, six) cats suddenly scrambled out from under the dumpster and ran for it. We stopped, surprised, and then one remaining cat, the seventh cat, the fearless cat, the leader cat, the kingpin cat, you might say, suddenly appeared at the top of the dumpster. It stared down at us in the night, eyes gleaming and its thick fur looking especially gray in the moonlight, and then jumped onto the ground in front of the dumpster, picked up a piece of toast (yes, there was a piece of toast on the ground in front of the dumpster), and strutted off after the other cat minions. My dog didn’t move and neither did I, not a stirring, not a sound, because when you’re in the presence of the dumpster-cat mafia and their toast god, all you can do is stand in silence and witness.
Today is the 3 year anniversary of us bringing home French Toast!
Here’s to our sassiest kitty, and the most jealous. You love us fiercely.
I love that you secretly sleep on top of the fridge when we aren’t around. I love how you can’t stop wiggling your butt whenever you’re getting pet. I love how rapturously in love with my husband you are (photo evidence included). I call you his girlfriend, but you snuggle me once he leaves so we’re cool.
I made this and I’ve actually never felt so proud of myself
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