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September 16, 2007
A vision of me and a cat curled on the sofa in sweet, sweet mammal love. I wish I had never asked for it. But I suppose that’s what living is. My father sure didn’t want a cat. “I don’t want a cat in the house,” he said. “Especially not a kitten.” My mother said, “Oh, Hal.” And picked up the calico runt. The teen ran her fist under her nose and sniffled. “Five dollars,” she said. “It’ll spray. It’ll claw things. It’ll stink up the place. It’ll shed.” Mom pointed to me as her argument. How could he win?