I guess today is National Pet Day. How would I ever know what day it was if not for Instagram hashtags?
I just posted pictures of my current cats two days ago so I thought I would do a throwback to 1983.
Here’s an old picture of my dad pretending to like me, also featuring his Siberian Husky, Blitz. The only time I ever saw my dad cry was when he had Blitz put to sleep. Man, I get it, Dad. I get it. He never got another pet after that. I always thought he was a jerk until I grew up and started losing my Originals: Marcy, Nicotina, Don, and Willie. It’s hard to know that I’m going to have to suffer that traumatic heartbreak again one day now that we have two new cats, but this house was just too empty and sad otherwise.
(Though, full of FLOURISHING PLANTS but I’m not bitter.)
Also, that broad on the left in the picture is Connie, some girl who lived on our street. I just remember she was a Jehovah’s Witness and all that meant to me was that she wasn’t allowed to go trick or treating, which I thought was just cruel, man.
(Connie is not to be confused with the dumb bitch who left me stranded in her treehouse overnight – ok probably only for about an hour until her dad realized I was stuck up there. I was afraid to climb down, Ok?! To this day, I still freeze anytime I’m more than three feet off the ground, which is why you will usually find me panicking on a playground while Henry and Chooch frown at me in disappointment.)
Fine, here are also two pictures of Penelope plotting plant perishment.
Gotta go. Journey’s “Who’s Crying Now” just came on the radio and I have to go and accidentally wake up Henry with my overzealous bed-dancing.