|As long as I'm in this box, you can't go anywhere|
That's my cat, Griffin, and he's got it all figured out that I'm leaving town in the immediate future (tonight actually). So what does he do? Being the genius that he is, he decides that the best way to keep me from leaving is to lay in my suitcase and look horribly miserable. Needless to say, my heart ached when I snapped this photo last night.
In case you were wondering, Griffin is about 7 years old and is an orange tabby that gets called "Garfield" a lot by kids. He has a younger brother that I officially adopted last year named Derry, NH. Seriously, that's his full name, although I didn't put the New Hampshire part down on his tag - people might get confused and wonder how a cat from New Hampshire made it all the way down to California. Derry was definitely someone's pet and we believe he was abandoned once the housing market tanked. I think he's part Maine Coon and the vet estimates that he's now about 3 or 4 years old. Here's a kinda fuzzy photo of Derry:
|What's the point in having birds around if I can't eat them?|
Hopefully all will be forgiven once we return from Vegas.