I have to share this story again. LIke 10 years ago my girlfriend at the time insisted that we get a kitten. I like cats. I had no problem with getting a cat. The only thing was... it had to be a boy cat. Girl cats are prissy and whiney. Boy cats are awesome.
So we drove over to Aberdeen, WA... a town famous for Kurt Cobaine, meth, and apparently cats. My girlfriend's cousin had a litter of kittens over there. I made my demands known. He set aside the 4 boy kittens and I began my rigorous series of tests. Mostly, grading them on cuteness scale, badazzery, mischief-making... I held them 6 inches above a pillow upside down and made sure they landed on their feet... just to make sure they weren't swishybrained.
Ultimately, I picked the cutest of the bunch. I took him home and named him "The Truth" after a Boston Celtic player of that era. "Truth" was my boy,. That dude would run around the house doing back flips, play-wrestle with my sock hand, and just generally be an all-around homie.
It was smooth-sailing for a month. Then one day my friend Dan came over to hang out. Dan was sitting on the couch petting Truth on the belly when he noticed something peculiar. "Dude... Truth has no balls". I scoffed at this ridiculous comment. "Fool, kittens don't have balls... those don't drop until later. Here, pass him over". I scoped out the situation and was shocked by what I noticed. My homie [was a girl].
This thread is bringing back all those bad memories. That terrible, awful day when I found out my furry little buddy had a secret... the day when I found out he [wasn't the boy I thought he was]. Poor lil dude. He's still my boy, though... despite the fact that he's a bit prissy and whiney.