In about 1998, two 3 week old kittens wandered in my back door in Hindmarsh and started eating Monty's dinner. They were all fluey and teeny, and covered in fleas. One was black, the other black and white. I decided that they had found me, and destiny had spoken. Thereafter, they were named Jetson and Chilli Oates, and became part of my family.
Many trials and many tribulations later - loss of limb, 24 hours in absentia, cancer! - they remind me a little of Gloria Gaynor. There have been tears, cuddles, one teeny claw poking the inside of my nose at 5.45am, many sitting-on-of-laps, some "Hopalong Cassidy" jokes etc etc. They are my boys, and I love them.
When I decided to up and leave home to travel the world, that love caused me the greatest anxiety. We were so close that the thought of them homeless was almost a deal breaker.
Luckily, I saw the light, and love them as dearly as I do, I realised that they would be OK. This is mainly because they are both slappers, and don't give a toss who you are, as long as you pat them. They were very lucky to land in the cushiony, loving bosom of my sister.
The reason i'm writing is that she is no longer able to look after the boys... she is a pop star, and must tour the world (or a bit of Australia) for years (or a bit) to make her fortune. Rather than being an auntie in absentia, she feels it would be better for the boys to put them up for adoption.
They are bloody nice, so if you live in Adelaide, and feel the need to get your hands on 2 slutty feline brothers, please let me know.