Sunday morning

I woke up with Diego (dumpster cat) asleep on the small of my back, and Oz (previously a dumpster cat) asleep on my legs. Pooh King, as always, was holding down his side of the bed on his own blanket.

So I got up and fed the cats. Just as I was leashing the dog I saw it. There was someone on my porch. Holy shit. There's a shadow on the other side of my blinds. Scared the crap out of me. I kept tight to the wall and crept over to see what the hell was going on. I mean, nobody would really want to steal the boxes out of my storage closet, would they? Gasp! Maybe they're after my chairs!

I peek out, and it's KD, my friend/bosslady. I walk out with Pooh King and she hands me a piece of paper:

"Friends don't let friends bury dumpster kittens."

She brought a shovel, had dug a hole, and was taking my dumpster kitten from her hiding place to be buried. (I can't explain how it's possible for WalMart to be sold out of shovels, but it was, so the kitten burial had to wait until today.)

Crying is a rough way to start the day, but having KD there to help softened the blow. I don't know how to thank the universe for giving me the right people at the right time. But thank you.