I tried to get into the whole “caring for an animal” thing, I really did. I bought a little carrier with paw prints all over it and overpriced food dishes and natural litter made from recycled newspapers. When I brought her home the day before Thanksgiving, Helen stepped tentatively out of her box, surveyed the landscape, and scoffed. “Where are we, the set of a horror movie?” Then she smiled at me as she hopped into one of my shoes and peed in it. “I THOUGHT YOU WERE HOUSEBROKEN!?” I screamed, racing over to dump her little ass out of my soiled New Balance. “I AM!” she shouted back. I hate
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