Sometimes the universe is kind. It will distract you from your self-absorption and drop something of such simple perfection into your lap that everything that might have been bothering you will vanish and your entire being will smile.

Such a moment will occur when you walk around the corner into the cat area at the Humane Society, on the way to the dog kennels, and you will see two new litters of kittens in pods with their moms. And you will see that one litter has five kittens, and they are over a month old and big enough to bounce around and play fight and be adventurous, and every one of them is orange.

And you will watch them sit and walk and run and fall over and poop and bug mom to nurse, and you will notice one more than the others. One who is short-haired rather than medium. One who has tabby stripes rather than orange whirls and a skunk stripe down his back (like the Cheesedoodle). One who has a little bit better control over his limbs. One whose facial expressions show some ‘tude. One who will respond to his sibling’s clumsy attack with a roundhouse whap to the face.

And you will realize that your 12-year-old, 17lb tom was one that little dude, and you will not be able to stop grinning, and you will go out to the car and call your housemates to come by and have a look and see if they like anyone in the group, because your Cheesedoodle has been born.

And while it might end up costing us the bulldog, he should be coming home with me within a month. (Apparently Linzee, one of the main animal care staff, knows Baloo and has threatened Chris at the dog park that she might steal him. Ahh, the bulldog mojo…)

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