My wife Abby and I have an old cat (Scout). She’s 13 years old and is a house cat-turned outdoor cat-turned house cat. With our new apartment on the third floor, Scout has to stay inside most of the time and seems fairly bored…even with people in the apartment. Abby and I have been discussing getting another cat but had been stalling for one reason or another…until tonight.
I went to Zach’s house with Jon and Zach (obviously) after work today to work on our sweet website MasterWish. While there, Sara (Zach’s wife), brought home three homeless kittens (Black, Red, and White-ish Red)! They were fairly dirty so promptly received baths and afterwards I held the black one in a towel to keep it warm. As it sat in my hands our eyes met, a flea jumped onto my hand (which I promptly killed), and it was meant to be. I grinned to my friends as I picked up the phone and called my wife. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Hi Wife. I’m holding a wet kitten, can I keep it?”
Zach (in the background): “You should have said you had your hands on a wet pussy.”
Me: “Hi. I have my hands on a wet pussy. Can I keep it? Do you want to drive down to Z’s house to see these three kittens that Sara brought home so we can have one?”
Wife: “Sure. See you in a few minutes.”
Abby agreed that the black one was a keeper (the other two will find their way to a Humane Society) and we were left to think of a name. Now, when the kittens came out of their baths, Jon named them Chicken Finger (the black one), Duck Sauce (the red one), and Crab Rangoon (the whiteish red one)…well, we weren’t too keen on keeping Chicken Finger for our little black cat (save for making Chicken Finger its middle name) so debated all the way home on what the little fur ball’s name would be. Abby thought of the name ‘Ducky’ and it seemed to fit as the kitten has a gimpy left hind leg and waddles like a duck when it walks (sorta). So…the official name of the new cat is Ducky Chicken Finger