Sashimi Bun

The day I brought the kitty home I had a temperature of 102 degrees. The drive to the humane society had been an act of rebellion against my better judgement: I was a little dizzy, a little nauseated, my throat swarming with antiviral armies wielding spears, javelins, occasionally catapults.

But I had been sweating in bed for three days. The sixteen year old in me moped to the kitchen and whined. “Oh my god, get out of the house.”

The ten year old in me perked up. “AND LOOK AT KITTENS.”

So I popped two Dayquil and took my adult body on a feverish adventure. I knew what I wanted. An orange cat, male, two or three years old at least. I would name him Milo.

More photos of Sashimi Bun: here.

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