I went to visit Mildred last weekend. I crossed at least three different bodies of water to cuddle with my kitty-to-be. She’s even cuter in person.
Let me tell you, sitting on the floor while seven kittens climb all over your legs is just about the best mood enhancer ever.
Unless you’re wearing low rise jeans.
Sitting indian style on the floor. (Do we still call it indian style? Somehow that seems insensitive. I’m nothing if not politically correct and demure, you know. Just pretend I said cross-legged, k?)
And you’re butt cleavage is in full effect. But you don’t sweat it because you’ve got your back towards the corner. No one will be visually affronted. The sagging flap of your waistband balloons behind you, creating a perfect kitten size nook.
And while you’re distracted by six adorable mewing balls of fur, an extra curious kitten crawls into said nook.
And you try to act all cool and nonchalant about having a furry wriggling kitten in your ass crack, but it’s not easy. In fact, it kind of feels nice for two seconds and there might even be a little giggling involved. But it’s weird and you want it to end. Plus you don’t really want the kitten’s mama’s mama to get the wrong impression of why you want to adopt a kitten. So you shift your weight slightly so you can reach around to pull the tiny fury wriggling kitten out of your pants with your free hand.
But the kitten doesn’t like the way you moved. It decides it wants to leave the safe warm nook of denim and ass crack it previously found so inviting. IMMEDIATELY.
But it gets stuck.
And freaks the fuck out.
And claws it’s way OUT of your ass crack, over the sagging flap of your jeans, and onto the floor while you shriek in pain and embarrassment, hoping against hope that maybe the kitten’s mama’s mama didn’t notice your howling.
And then you realize you can’t ever crack another Richard Gere joke again.