As an unusually social cat, Pork Chop has been rather lonely for the past couple of months. You see, the other person who used to live in our apartment no longer lives in our apartment. (For those of you who know a bit about my personal life, that statement means everything that you think it means—and believe me, it's all been as unexpected and inexplicable to me as it is, I presume [?], to you.)
What I'm saying is, Pork Chop has asked for a sibling, a companion, a plaything that he can bat around like a chicken leg. After considering a bunch of different names—including top contenders like "Sha Siu Bao" and "Ham Sammy"—I've decided to name Pork Chop's probably-brother "Flapjack." The thing is, we have no idea who Flapjack is yet or where he (or she) is coming from.
The hunt began at the Glendale Humane Society, where the woman started grilling me in a slightly confrontational manner, as if I were some crazy person who was trolling animal shelters for cuts of meat for an Asian stew. Jesus Christ, if you're trying to deal with pet overpopulation and place strays in loving homes, you shouldn't act suspicious of someone like me, who loves his Pork Chop MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF.
The saga continues....
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