Hosanna, the cat my alleged daughter brought home a few months ago, has quickly become a snuggly part of the family. She's sweet and cuddly and she sure does love to sleep. Kind of like my big sister, but with slightly more fur.
She's getting big and growing up, so I was just starting to think about taking her to the vet to get her parts fixed/removed/cauterized/shut down when my alleged daughter came to me with a seriously concerned look on her face.
"Mom. I think Hosanna's got balls."
"No way. Are you sure?" I dare ANY ONE OF YOU to have a quicker comeback upon encountering unexpected testicles. There's NEVER a good time for surprise balls.
"Yeah, Mom. I know what balls look like."
Uh. That's not something you want to hear from your teenage daughter. But at that moment, I had more important things to deal with. I grabbed the cat and flipped it over and sure enough. Balls. BALLS, man!
The alleged daughter just crossed her arms and said, "See? I told you she's got balls."
What could I say? My daughter knows balls when she sees them.
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