Last week, in the midst of trying to come down off all kinds of vacation tiredness, I got a call at work from my landlady. As I spent the previous night at my boy's place, my toilet exploded. Flooding my bathroom and soaking the roof of the woman who lives below me.
This, of course, led to my landlady going into my apartment.
That led to her finding out about Mr. Cat and his belongings.
Which led to her sounding all disappointed because I hadn't paid the $250 pet deposit yet.
My boy and I had an agreement: he would hang on to that cash until we absolutely had to pay it. Since I adopted little Tux under my name and address so my boy could have him (after finding out his apartment had a $350 deposit on top of monthly pet fees). But now, well, my boy blew most of that in Vegas. I was not happy to hear this, especially since WE ONLY GAMBLED $3! Do you understand what this means internet? He spent our kitty money on food. Food. FOOD.
I was going to give the cat to the boyfriend full time, and make him pay the $95 carpet cleaning fee. But then I decided I didn't want our kitty buddy to NEVER be able to come back to my place. So, the boy will pay $100 and I'll pay $150. This will be the first time since we dove into this cat thing that I've spent any money on the furry little beast. And I assure you, unless the cat's life is hanging by a thread, it will be the last.