Kid, walking in in a huff: I don’t understand her.
Me: What did your sister do now?
Kid 1: I bought her all of that make up, I went down to her house to organize it with her, and she wouldn’t let me upstairs.
Me: What do you mean, she wouldn’t let you upstairs?
Kid 1: She asked that I please not go upstairs and of course, I’m going to respect that, but I don’t appreciate it.
Two days later:
Kid 2, texting: I have to tell you something. Private. And you have to promise not to get mad at me.
Me: Oh God.
Me: Kid 2 wants to tell me something in private. She is pregnant or in jail or both of them are in jail…
Gordon: They wrecked the car.
Kid 2: There was a six toed kitten in Petsmart that did not get adopted because nobody would taker her and because she looks kind of like a little werewolf and she was all sad and alone and abandoned. And I like her so much and she sits on my lap when I write and she has nowhere to go and can we please keep the kitten?
Long story short, bargains were made, concessions and conditions were agreed upon.
Behold, Minou Camille.
She has a clean bill of health from the vet and apparently her own taco truck.