My life as a pet rescuer.

Dearest Reader,

Yikes, I hate the rain.

Not the sit-inside-the-dry-house-and-watch-Lucy’s-mom-search-for-her-housekeys-in-the-middle-of-a-downpour part of it … that’s hilarious. But I’m not a big fan of going out when it’s wet.

Even if it’s stopped raining and the pavement is wet, the water finds a way to soak the fur between my toes and then I feel like I’m walking around the house in wet socks all day. Sure, there is some measure of delight in hearing Marina and Lucy argue over who has to mop up after the cat (me), but I’d rather have dry toes and tater tots in my tummy.

So the gang’s latest adventure involved me helping the girls find homes for stranded pets following a big storm and the shelter getting destroyed by a giant tomato.

We did some research for the story by visiting our community’s local pet rescue center – which is pretty cool and pretty sad. It’s like going to “pet jail” only everyone is in the slammer and didn’t do anything to deserve it other than getting born.

Well, I guess the dogs did kinda deserve it because they’re dogs, and, you know. They’re dogs.

But I digress. Because even dogs deserve parole from pet jail. Especially if that pet jail could be destroyed by a giant tomato.

What?  It wasn’t a tomato, it was a tornado? Oh.

Either way, our four legged friends at pet shelters everywhere (yes, sometimes they have more or less than four legs – sometimes, even fins) need your help to get out. Please consider adopting a pet today.

And then tell them they owe me.

 

Yours in tater tots and lending a paw in need,
Hubble