And with that promise (or lie depending on who's talking and who's listening) I managed to get the cat into the box with a couple of gentle shoves to his butt and carry all his 17 pounds down to the vet.
He was no dummy.
And when it was over and I let him out of the box into the hallway while I searched for my keys, he ran straight to the front door and meowed loud and clear that he had had enough he wanted to be home and there better be chicken because yes, it did hurt.
New York City’s 1940 Tax Photos — Now Online! - New York history buffs have been waiting a long time for this — the New York City Municipal Archives has digitized all 720,000 of its tax photos of every...
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