The letter I want to send to my brother right now.

Yardape, What the Fuck are you doing bringing home a new kitten? Sure little Jocko is adorable- a little white ball of fluff in your hands, scared, and looking at the camera. And I'm sure both Aidan and Riley were pestering you to bring him home.

But may I remind you of the cat I have upstairs in my spare bedroom? One adorable ball of fluff you could not resist bringing home one Kissmoose for your pregnant wife, who became so traumatized by your household he lived under your bed for *two years* during the daytime and only came out at night, because the dog sleeps under there? He was absolutely terrified of being petted, and even now, after 2 years of our home, he would still rather give the softest licks in the world than ever be petted. He still is scared to come out in daylight. He still rarely sits in our laps.

And may I remind you of the unknown fate of Midnight, a cat you dumped at a shelter a month after giving me Pepe. You told me when I took Pepe that you didn't have the money to care for him, but you thought you could get by with what you had- two boys, two cats (BJ and Midnight) and your big bouncy dog Sosa. But you got rid of Midnight too. One less mouth to feed. A solid black cat, roughly 7 years old, entered the shelter season. You want me to dig up the odds of her finding that happy family to take her home? They are pretty god-damn slim, and the odds of her being put down as "not very adoptable" or a "we're out of room so we have to kill somebody" culling of the shelter within a month or two of her surrenter are extremely high. You have Midnight's death on your conscience, but you will conveniently ignore that for the hope that maybe she'll be okay. I bet you didn't even donate money when you left her there. They have to pay for all those mouths too.

And it's been two years. Just two years. BJ has made it clear to you that he will not tolerate other cats. He attacks them and terrorizes them. You now have a daughter, just learning to walk. And now you're bringing home yet another kitten. You're a fucking idiot. Because I know damn well that it won't be too long- say another two years, and little Jocko won't be little any more. He'll have learned to hide and you won't get to play with him like you play with big goofy Sosa. You won't have him in your lap because Jocko will be too scared to come out and love you- BJ would rather savage him than allow this. So you won't feel guilty when you take him to the shelter, you bastard, or dump him on me, because by then, maybe one of my senior cats will have died- Sassy can't live too much longer, you may even already think in the back of your mind. Diabetic cats don't live long on insulin, and she's already 15ish. There'll be room at the food bowl and you know I love cats. Convient for you.

Not convenient for me.

Now I don't know what other options little Jocko had. I really don't. Maybe you found him stuck in your truck engine- it's getting colder these days. Thump your hood before you start the car. Maybe it's a backyard litter bred by other ignorant fucks who "wanted their kids to experience the miracle of birth" or just didn't want to neuter their cats. Maybe Jocko would have gone to the shelter next week just the age he is. The adoptability ratio at his age- and he looks about 8 weeks in that picture, almost too young to be taken from his mom- is fantastic. And maybe, just maybe, they'd be a better person to take care of a pet than you.  ¶ 10:25 PM