Secretly, I knew it didn't make sense, as my Casper was not a white cat, but still, I loved T.V.-Casper and knew it was the perfect name for my cat, whether she was ghostly white or not.
After a few days with Casper, it became apparent that either Casper or my older brother (who it turns out, is deathly allergic to cats) was going to have to go.
In an incredibly rookie move my mom asked me which I'd like to keep, my cat or my brother. I looked at the lady like she was an idiot, and replied like it was the most obvious answer in the world (because to a five-year-old it was) "THE CAT!!!"
The next day, Casper was gone. I was shocked, incredulous - "But I TOLD YOU I wanted to keep THE CAT!"
And yet, despite my crying, wailing, and hysterics there was no reversing of her opinion.
Casper was relocated across the street, in what can only be described as the cat's lucky break. Casper went on to live a long, indulged and incredibly happy life with an elderly, retired and kind couple who gave the cat - really my cat - her very own room, as well as an entire other room just for her cat toys.
And me? I got liberal visitation rights to see Casper.
|Visiting Casper in her new home.|
And the knowledge that despite all appearances to the contrary, a great wrong had happened here.
I'm taking a trip down memory lane every Friday until I get bored of digging around my old photos, or until I run out of material.
I'm linking-up to Yeah Write, click here to read more stories from this incredible writing community.