Britt casually strolled in from work last week carrying this little fellow. He had been found on the steps of the vet office he called on, and I guess Britt had that "I could be convinced to take home a stray animal" look on his face.
With unpacking boxes (and boxes, and more boxes) and trying to get this house organized, it's not like I don't have anything better to do than take care of a sweet, fuzzy, adorable, playful, loveable kitten, whom we named Rush (NO, not after Rush Limbaugh, as I keep explaining to my family). Britt said he got him because he was cute and so he could keep me company during the day since the other cats (frownie!!) are still with their "babysitter" in Georgia. I guess what he meant was that he was getting the new kitten so he could keep me company and totally kill my productivity.
Why would I want to organize the silverware drawer when I could throw little fake mice for the new guy? After all, it's definitely my very important job to make him feel at home, so if you don't mind, I'm headed to work.