The Curious Case of the Missing Underwear

Well, now that I have MJenks attention, I am going to sadly reveal that this story is not about any new found love of going commando.  Sorry guys, but the epic question of "Does She or Doesn't She" will not be answered here today.  

Two weeks ago I made my way to the local animal shelter to adopt another kitten.  After two months of mourning the passing of my beloved B-Phat, I had decided to bring another kitten into my home.  Elsa wasn't really happy about my decision, but since I buy the Fancy Feast and have the hook-up for the catnip, she gave her reluctant meow of approval.  I, on the other hand, am now asking WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING??!?!

OMG people, I have completely lost my freaking' mind and had the world's biggest brain-fart.  It's been three years since I last had a kitten in my house and apparently time erases the memory of all the crazy batsh*t things kittens like to do.

Like:

1. Get a cold one week after you bring them home from the local Typhoid Mary Infirmary, so that you can spend every last dime you have until the next payday on x-rays, shots, IV saline re-hydration, oxygen tank confinement (seriously?!), antibiotics, and your vet's new Lexus XL complete with GPS and side door airbags.

2. Keeping you up until 5 a.m. the night before a full day when you have to get up at 7 a.m with their sneezing and hacking up a lung onto your carpet, bedspread, and new cashmere sweater you bought on sale for 50% off of the 50% off sale price from the original price.

3. Running full balls-to-the-wall speed down the hall, across the coffee table, over the love seat, and straight into a full set of closed window blinds in the middle of the night; thereby causing you to have a small, but significant heart attack that is only calmed by half a bag of Ho-Ho miniatures and two xanaxes with a triple vodka chaser.

4. Chase after a rather rotund three year old feline who is seriously pissed at her owner for getting her de-clawed because she would really like to smack the sh*t out of the new kitten at this point in time.  Why she doesn't just sit on him is beyond me.  She may not have claws, but she is up about three weight classes on him and could take him out with one good sumo squat.

Basically, I now know why God and I have decided that kids would not be a good thing for me.  Cause right now, I am one good midnight race-and-chase away from re-inventing the catapult.  But, love conquers all and Sneezes (no, I am not really going to call him that permanently, just until I can think of something more befitting) will curl up on my lap to "make biscuits" while purring the "Battle Hymn of the Republic"* then all is forgiven.  * Ok, he doesn't really purr the Battle Hymn of the Republic, but I think he was humming the theme from Jaws last night.

So, what the hell does any of the above have to do with underwear?  Well, I'll tell ya.  Tonight, I was trying to get some housework done.  Including laundry.  Which I hate to do and will put off until I have worn every last pair of clean socks, underpants, and tee-shirts I own.  Which is enough to last me about two weeks.  As in... I got Sneezes about two weeks ago.  Anyone getting a little light switch flick right about now????

I go about sorting my clothes.  Turning thing right side out (like my Mama taught me), when I start to notice a decided lack of something in my hamper.  I kept sorting.  And thinking, "I know I have worn underwear lately".  Followed by, "Where the hell are all my panties?"  For a minute I panic and think that I have left two weeks worth of undies at the gym and the people at Lifetime are going to ask me to go through some sort of sensitivity training before I can return.  I think I must have done a load of laundry earlier and left it in the dryer.  Nope, I checked.  Not there.  Then, from out of nowhere comes this small orange streak, racing full speed ahead with a flash of zebra print sailing behind it like the Black Pearl at full mast.

HOLY VICTORIA'S SECRET, BATMAN!!!  That was yesterday's panties streaking by me at 30 knots.  I gave chase to the little thief and discovered that he has absconded with every pair of underwear I have put in the hamper since I released him from his new-kitten quarantine.  He has been stashing them in the back of my closet behind a suitcase doing all sorts of who-know-what-kitten-things to or with them.  UGH!  

Now I have a big decision to make: Do I wash them (about 50 times in really hot water) or do I toss them out and run to the local Wally-world for a clean 5-pack of the Fruit of the Looms?  Then I have to decide what a kitten therapist is going to cost me because I'll bet you good money this little kitten has got some sort of full blown pantie issues going on and I can just see him growing up to become an internet-kitty-porn addict if I don't get this nipped in the bud right now.  Does anyone know a good therapist who is also fluent in Feline?  Or if Tide works on cat fur?