I wonder if they're gonna change it.

As anyone who has ever applied to adopt a dog from rescue knows, the application is pretty dang thorough. I had to fill out an EIGHT page application that had harder questions than the freaking SAT. Then I had to gather the following: Copy of my lease, the names of all my sex partners for the past three years, addendum to lease that says that I can have two dogs, my permanent record from school, credit report, note from my mom, Psych evaluation notes, my C.A.T. test scores, printout of all the songs on my iPod, fingerprints, certified letter from Jessie Jackson, a letter from my Rabbi, three references that do not live with me, urine sample, letters from four dogs that don't live with me, copy of Lassie's autograph, one strand of hair, an original ballad that I composed, and the hat of one of the Monks of New Skete. And Lola's vet records for the past five years.

So I called the vet to get them to copy the eight million pages (I was a little overzealous when she was small) and Irene, who has known Lola all her life, suddenly can't find me.

Great. Now the rescue people are gonna think I'm a pirate who is just here to gather rescue Pugs and Bulldogs to ship them off to some small third-world country to make Nikes.

So she looks and looks and asks if I was possibly under Robot's name? Nope. And no, I do not have the kitty anymore, I found him a good home.

"Derek? Payne?" Irene asked. "Do you know a Derek Payne?"

Well that would be the good home I found him. Ah! They brought Wayne to the vet and got his records transferred. YAY! I did find him a good home! And YAY! I'm no pirate! Lola's records just got moved to Derek's file by mistake! And –

"I'm sorry?" I said, "The kitten's name is Wayne Payne?"

That kitten. He's not even here, and he's still making me laugh.