There's a sticker on Stickers butt

Shortie and I did some shopping today.  Got some stuff for con, the house, and of course, con stuff for Stickers.  As you know, we will be taking her with us this year.  And therefore she needs her own con gear, BJ isn't being tortured given any con gear as he won't be leaving the room.

The perfect con-kitty needs her own leash, got it.  Black, of course.  And big enough for Shortie to decorate with thingies for next year, providing the cat lets us live after this year.

Kitty needs a collar.  Done.  Even has spikes.  Yes, definitely con-kitty gear.  And its other purpose is to stab her humans while they sleep.  Note to self, remove collar from cat prior to going to bed.

Harness, got that one too.  But being in true cat-like form, Stickers showed her complete disdain with our choice by "having" difficulty walking.  Ok, so she waddled like it was pantyhose or something.  Harness gets exchanged tomorrow for another one, as the cat model goes around the neck and she would probably do better with a dog one that doesn't.

And of course, what con-kitty couldn't leave home without is the sticker on the butt.  Ok, the sticker wasn't planned for Stickers butt, but she ended up wearing one.  The sticker happened to come from the harness, kinda funny when she didn't want to wear that and yet the sticker was apparently ok.  The funniest words I have ever heard were from Shortie today when she said "There's a sticker on Stickers butt". 

Now this poor, upset and very put out kitty was glaring at the two of us.  Because not only did she have the harness on, a sticker stuck to her, but we were laughing at her.  And this was after the humiliating walk to the mailbox to "test" out the bondage safety equipment for her so she could go with us to con.  What she doesn't know is that she will also have to ride in a carrier to get there.  Poor abused kitty.  Note to self, give kitty lots of treats before bed so I don't get smothered loved to death by her.

Ah, the joys of taking cats to con.  Kinda like taking a teenage girl to con, but with less luggage.  If you see a black furball with a leash on and a 18yo girl chasing her down the halls, they probably belong to me.  Then again, maybe they don't.