Sunday, June 7, 2009


Growing up on the farm, we always had animals around. We had like a million barn cats, but only a few made it into the house. Those were the orange one's. Mom had a thing for orange cats. (She eventually married a red head, is it a Freudian thing?). Anyhow, my sister Amy loved gray cats, and every single one of them she named Smokey. After awhile, we were calling them by the number they were, Smokey #2, #3, #4. Cats never lasted long at our farm. There were too many trucks and tractors around to run them over. Well, last night my brother in law David brought home a gray kitten he found at work. Amy was of course smitten by it, and wants to name it Smokey. Nate has already said that the cat can't come over here because it would poop in the sand box. If the cat came here it would be called dog food. So, welcome to the family Smokey #10. I hope you last longer than your namesakes!

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