Apparently, I Am Doomed To Have Cats With Dumb Names

So, last night at 11:30, I managed to accidentally adopt a kitten three states away. Her name is Princess Rainbow Terrorist.

Okay, so this is how that happened:

A few years ago, my mom and her friends decided to start an no-kill animal rescue organization for our county because the local shelter was a kill shelter, and the local cops refused to enforce any animal welfare laws. So, they started this organization and it's become huge. Because they still don't have a central facility to house the animals, most of them are fostered by volunteers until they are adopted. We cannot foster animals. We always adopt them.

Anyway, last week some teenagers found a two-week old kitten who'd gotten separated from her mommy. They brought her to the Animal Rescue store (second hand and pet supply store they have to raise money for the organization) for help. Barbi, the lady who was in the process of closing up, looked out the front window and saw the teenagers and the kitten with a big rainbow across the sky. That's how she got the Rainbow part of her name. It was kinda late and Barbi couldn't find any foster people to take her right away. So, she called my mom, who, of course, said yes. Ever since then, she's been not-so-subtly trying to convince either me or my step-dad to agree to adopt her. My step-dad would have eventually agreed, because he's a big old softy, especially when it comes to animals, but my mom wore me down first.

So now I have a cat named Princess Rainbow Terrorist. The Princess comes from how spoiled she is already. We always spoil our animals, and since she is a cat it instills a sense of entitlement rather than a sense of gratitude. For instance, yesterday this kitten (who is smaller than my hand) kicked my grandmother out of her bed. The Terrorist part of her name comes from the fact that her favorite past time is terrorizing our American Eskimo, Angel. He's kinda high strung and anxious anyway and he's kinda freaked out by how small she is. She chases him around, sneaks up on him and jumps, runs up and bites his tail or leg, will suddenly puff up and hiss at him for no reason, and stuff like that. She's had to step up her tactics because he's slowly getting used to her. He won't run if she just calmly walks up to him anymore, which is good because sometimes she wants to cuddle with him. So when she wants to play, she'll trick him by calmly walking up to him and then suddenly puffing up and hissing or jumping off of the couch down onto him when he's trying to nap.

Pictures are forthcoming, of course.

And now for something completely different....

My Unitarian
Jihad Name is: Sister Machine Gun of Desirable Mindfulness.

Get yours.