. . . I'm wrong.
This is Shane, a 14-week-old kitten I scooped up from the Animal Rescue League in El Paso, Texas. I loved them so much--they're no-kill, they don't cage their cats once they're old enough to roam around, and the staff is awesome, which is why I tacked on an extra $25 to the adoption fee.
"Shane" is what the League had named him. I thought about changing it, even though the boyfriend was dead against my first choice of name, "Kurtis Blow"--but he really kind of looks like a Shane, don't you think? I can't seem to call him anything else.
Meanwhile, Sally is off in her room listening to The Cure and penning angry poetry about how misunderstood she is by the world. She'll come around. If she doesn't, I'll see if Lauren can't knit her a big black sweater to mope around in. But I'm not lending her my eyeliner.