The Rittenhouse Review

A Philadelphia Journal of Politics, Finance, Ethics, and Culture

Wednesday, December 08, 2004  

I Promise

My housemate, if you can conceive it or believe it, is even more destitute than I am. Graduate student . . . Art history . . . Italian baroque painting and sculpture . . . You get the picture.

Anyway, and yet, he recently came home with a stray, or abandoned, kitten he has named Bernini, who weighed all of maybe one pound when he arrived here.

I’m really not a cat person, and I couldn't but happier if the cat were the hell out of here but, gee whiz, the little guy is awfully cute, even when he wakes me up at five in the morning and even when he scratches the hell out of my hands.

What about Mildred, you ask. No problem at all. She barely notices him, given that her mind can deal only with four issues: sleeping, eating, peeing, and pooping. Bernini is merely a (rather annoying) distraction.

The other day Bernini did a hop, skip, and a jump, and landed, claws akimbo, on top of Mildred.

Thank God for Mildred’s heavy coat, thick skin, and deep folds. The fall, forceful as it was, barely registered with the bulldog.

Actually, they’re slowly getting to know and respect each other, with Mildred occasionally cleaning the boy and Bernini now and again playfully batting her with his paws.


And all I can think is: More vet bills, starting, and only starting, with the whole fixing thing.


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