One of my parents' decrepit cats is extremely unimpressed with having been left home alone.

The origin of my parents cats still cracks me up. My dad came home in 2004 with two kittens, sisters from the same litter. First, I said, "OMG BABBY CATS!" And then I asked their names. He said their names were Prudence and Piper. I laughed and asked where Phoebe was.

He didn't understand, because my dad was a 54-year-old, straight dude, and that particular gem of popular culture wasn't in his repertoire. I explained, thought that was the end of it, and went to my evening class.

When I got home that night, I discovered not two, but three kittens. My dad had gone back to the humane society and asked if there had been another sister named Phoebe and if they still had her, because he felt so sad about splitting them up.

They did, in fact, still have Phoebe, and the venerable lady at the beginning of this thread is her.