The first thing we did was take a tour of the house.
“This is the living room. It’s where the couch is, see?”
I held the kitten out towards the padded gray seating, accented with brightly coloured pillows.
“You’re not allowed to scratch it, though! Mum will get mad at you and then you’ll have to go away.”
The kitten mewed in my hands as I tromped through the house, showing him the kitchen and the bathroom and the garden and the study and, finally, my room.
“This is where I live,” I exclaimed. “And you’ll be living with me, okay?”
Almost immediately after the words left my mouth I heard my mother call from the kitchen. “Not yet he won’t. He’s in the garage until he learns to pee in the box.”
Y’know those kitten eyes that you see in the Saturday morning cartoons? I was seeing those on the face of my little yellow kitten.
My little yellow kitten that I would have to leave in the cold, cold garage every night, while I'd be snug in my warm, warm bed.
"But can't Cade stay with me?"
"Not at night, dear," mom answered. "He'll wet your bed and tear your sheets. He stays in the garage."
"And that's final."