Now normally… karma is something attached to your life now but it doesn’t kick in until your next life. Think of it as a kind of inheritance for your kids but way more important because it is going to the future you. So if you do something bad then you are just packing that karma bag full of unclaimed turds from the dog park for future you to sift through on a hot summer day. But if you are good and spread the love then you are packing the overnight delivery full of happiness, love, drugs, and money so that future you has an even more chill life and eventually you can reach Nirvana. Thats how I like to picture it.

My own karma is a thoroughly mixed bag but one of my latest deposits was a bag of dead pets into a waste management can in a pink shoe box. I am not exactly in the black on this account. I get it. So that is why what happened last Thursday should be more understandable. It started when I came back to the office from lunch. There was a small shabby kitten hanging around the foyer. Some do-gooder volunteer had prepared a kitty cat similac in a small bowl. The cat tried some the non-dairy creamer and water concoction and was not impressed. He mewed and chased everyone trying to get inside and be held. He was pitiful. I left the office for a field visit and I had high hopes that he would be gone when I returned.

Upon my return I found that he had not left and, even worse, had taken refuge under my tires to get out of the blistering 87 degree sun. Here was a sweet helpless baby cat that I can guarantee would be dead tomorrow. Don’t read anything into that. I wasn’t going to find a sack. He didn’t threaten my children, eat his brother, or try to bite me. It is a strict list.

SO I did what any reasonable man would do and picked up the little kitty kitty and put him in my passenger seat. All the while telling myself the age old lie that “We will get him healthy and clean and find him a great home.” We’ve done the first two and the rest of my family feels that number three is already satisfied as well.

Fast forward three days. We have a cat named Street Taco. The kids think Lucifer Long Tail is the correct name but I disagree and I have a blog and those girls don’t so here we are naming this fucking cat Street Taco because our dog is Judy Cornbread and a food theme seems fun. I think Taco for short. Everybody don’t need to know he came from the streets.

SO for all the people worried that I had too much baggage on the back side of my karma; I saved a life. That has to count for something. The kids are happy. The cat is happy. The other cat is miserable. The dog is confused. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.