I have a new roommate. His name is Ellis. Here’s how this came to be:
Over Memorial Day weekend, my co-parent Jill and a friend of hers went to a party. On their way back to her house, they were talking and missed their turn. They pulled into a construction site to turn around, and found a number of abandoned kittens; she figured about 25.
She contacted a friend or two to help wrangle them and got the majority of them to shelter, but she kept the smallest one with the intent of giving it away to a cat-friendly family.
To avoid getting close and familiar, she didn’t give him a name, instead referring to it as “Little Fucker”. This was eventually shortened to “L.F.”. My son suggested just calling him “Ellis”, because of Memorial Day, Ellis Island, freedom, etc etc.
Once Ellis had a name, though, it became personal, and Jill decided the best home for Ellis would be hers. A few problems with this: she already has two cats, and they didn’t take very kindly to the new kid in town. In addition, she’s mildly allergic to cats. Two are manageable, but the third one and it’s additional dander and flying fur caused sneezing fits and itchy eyes and all the rest.
Even though my abode is a teeny condo unit, I agreed to adopt Ellis so he’s at least still be in the family.
So that’s the story behind my new roommate. I’m sure there will be future stories to be told.