It will be hard to update about Argentina and New Orleans for a while (multiple reasons), but for now, a short story about The Kitten That Got Away.
I bought 2/3 of a kitten just before I left for my trip. It was like a downpayment, and the guy was going to keep him for me for the extra week. After careful thought about what I would name a new kitten, the name that kept coming back to me was Pillory. I had slight misgivings about this name, due to the number of times I envisioned myself having this conversation:
Me: His name is Pillory.
Me: Yeah. You know, like what happens to medieval debtors?
Anyway, for lack of a better name to refer to him as, I called him Pillory around the house once I got to New Orleans. It also seemed to annoy mom, and the more I called him that, the more absurd the name seemed, and the more I liked it.
When I got back to Austin yesterday, the owner/guardian said he'd escaped that morning. I'm a little bit heartbroken, because although we'd only met once, I loved Pillory as my own already. I'm still hoping he'll come back. Mom thinks he heard that I was going to name him Pillory and just bolted.
Pillory I barely knew you.
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