Kitted Out

Something spectacular, unexpected, and a little out of character happened in my apartment over the weekend: I got kittens.

I'd been thinking about this for a while, looked up thousands of adoptable cats on Craigslist, and almost took in two last year that had been abandoned at a deli by my house, but could never could pull the trigger. (They'll make the house messy! They'll stink! I'll become a cat lady!) Then on Saturday, I was walking to buy bread for dinner and there they were: the most ridiculously-to-the-point-of-cheesy cute animals I'd ever seen in my life.

And they'd been abandoned and needed someone to foster them, and I took them home that night, and I am never giving them back. I am freakishly obsessed with these little creatures. I want them to have everything—stupid blinged-out collars, fake mice, "peek-a-prize", peacock feathers, this thing. Something has gone terribly wrong (or right?). Seriously, I can see it all happening: First I'll frame of a picture of them and put it on my desk, then I'll use an adorable photo of them as my Facebook headshot ... then, honestly, who knows? A T-shirt with all of us together? An "I heart my cats" pin? My life as a mildly cool person is over. It's embarrassing.