Memoirs of an Idiot Hunter, Part I

I was out for an early morning stroll on Wellington street in Verdun today (picture oldschool small town main street, shopping district 15 blocks long) taking in the sights ( breakfast cafe patios, hookers with their thongs showing in three or more places) and smells ( fresh croissants and danishes at Gaummond, roofing tar on the next block) and came across something I just didn't understand.

In the doorway of a down and out pet shop, was a pink cardboard box. I go to check it out. On top of the box is marked " kittens, two months old" in blue marker. The box was then taped up eight ways to Sunday, and laying in the already ruthless sun. Oh, I forgot to mention that the saint who did this poked two holes in the top of the box with a Bic pen.

So this wonderlunk had the brains to leave the kitties with their mother till they were weened, looked after all their needs, then stuck them in a cardboard box to roast for a few hours before the pet store owner sobered up and decides to open. Real genius. I'm surprised he hadn't tried mailing them to Bubbles in Sunnyvale.

I looked around and spied a stack of boxes in front of the Dollarama, bound for recycling and walked down, got a good size crate and folded it in three. At least this way I could shelter them from the sun without killing the airways.

I'm gonna go by in the afternoon tomorrow to check in on them at the store. Hopefully they made it.