The three kitties have turned into one ginormous elephant in the room.

Ok, let's get the mega-sugary syrupy part over and done with, here's the additional pictures of the kitties. God, they were so sweet and we had really bonded. The pictures were taken while I was on my way to the Humane Society. Logic and reason had to prevail if the kitties were to have any real chance of survival. I've been thinking about them all day. And even though I was the only one to have taken care of them—at all—in the brief time they were in our company, both Carlos (who played with them for a few minutes before abandoning them because he wanted to go to his room) and T-Snake (who never ever saw them) had gotten the idea that adopting the kitties was a good idea and done deal. It was while I was cleaning up the copious amounts of shitty kitty crap that the reality of being a pet owner kicked in. Reality is a bitch.

When they came home from dinner T-Snake burst into the house giddy with the (never confirmed) notion that he was going to get a kitten or kittens. For the next 45 minutes there was a lot of back and forth (I'll spare you all the mind numbing and illogical details) and T-Snake was doing everything in his power to manipulate the outcome into his favor of getting a cat. He kept claiming that he's very qualified for taking care of pets, having raised more than any of us. I believe what I see and nothing I've seen him do would indicate he's capable of such a responsibility. I could not in good conscience entrust the tender fragile life of one of these rescued kittens into the care of someone who doesn't even do his share in cleaning his own litter box (aka: bathroom) or bedroom—the same bedroom whose stench still makes be gag when I walk by when the door is open—but was not mentally able at the time to put get that point across without possibly insulting him. OK, I can hear everyone out there saying in unison, "but you fucking own the house, and it's your right to take a stand." And you would be right. To be fair I wouldn't entrust the kitten(s) lives in my own hands right now, either. None of us are realistically able to make that kind of commitment right now. But I digress.

Ultimately I had to play the landlord card and say "no pets" which I thought—as any logical person might—would end the conversation. It did not, and even though Carlos said he respected my judgement and decision, it started to feel like I was being made out to be the bad guy. Hell, I'd rather be the bad guy and do the right thing, than then nice guy by doing the wrong thing. When I tried to—on eggshells, as to not bring out Carlos' close-minded defensive persona that's become such a frequent visitor—address the fact that I had tried stop the "house meeting" before it started and avert the 45 minutes of pointless round-and-round, Carlos started doing what he always faults me for, he began talking over me and interrupting me. And then when I asked if I could finish what I was saying, he cut me off and said "Wait, let me finish." The double standard that has become a growing roadblock in our communication over the past year finally broke me. I snapped. And they were not ready for what I told them next; the new elephant in the room.

And I'll tell you what that elephant is…tomorrow. (I'm such a tease!) As an added bonus, I'll share with you the deleted content that didn't make it into tonight's big reveal. Think of it as a blog post with bonus features!