Attention to Detail
You won't read all of this, but I wrote all of this.
My mother dosen't like cats, and that's putting it lightly. If pressed, she will throw out adjectives such as "evil" and "filthy." I think something traumatic happened to her when she was a small child that she associates with cats. I've never got a clear picture of what exactly, but I know when she was a girl she had to go stay with my great-grandmother for a time, and there she and my great-grandmother got into the habit of poisoning the neighborhood cats by leaving discreet dishes of milk and chemical around the gardens. My mother recalls the murders casually and with an air of vigilante justice but never hints at the source of their morbid plan. Thus, I've always believed there was more to the story. My father and I have discussed this and he believes my mother may have been severely sexually abused at a young age by her step-father, but he says that he has never been told anything absolute. We speculate only. The cat-murders are one of my mother's biggest mysteries.
Dogs are a different story. My mother, how she loves the neurotic Cocker Spaniel. I grew up with one after the next. A total of three; Gertrude McFuzz (Gertie), Humphrey, and Lexi. In a karmatic twist of fate, Gertie was poisoned by an elderly neighbor who often complained of her barking, and Lexi was the replacement. Humphrey was a dog that came to our door one winter, cold and hungry and wearing a horrible sweater claiming he was a "Bird-dog." We took him to the vet and discovered he had a chip in his neck. We called the number registered to the chip and the woman who answered said she had been looking for "Rosco" for days. We drove him home. When my mother saw the house he belonged to she gasped. Rosco/Humphrey lived in a run down duplex that had a mattress propped in front of the living room window for curtains and about four inches of trash covering the front porch. She was a bitch to the woman who answered the door and later that night ordered my sister to go steal him from the yard. So, that is how we came to have Humphrey; the fast way, ski-mask way. ;)
When Adam and I moved to Alaska and I had my own household for the first time, I decided that I might like to have a cat for a pet. I went to the animal shelter and adopted a jet-black teenage cat and named her Abigael. I wasn't sure how it would go; I knew nothing of cats and had never been allowed to own one. Well, that's not entirely true. When my mother left my father and he had a nervous breakdown and left his psychology practice to become a farmer, he got me a kitten. This was likely as much a reward for me as it was a shot at my cat-loathing mother. I named it Gizmo and had it for about two weeks before a horse stepped on it's head. I've never seen anything like that since, it was like a cartoon death; the 3D body attached to the pancake-head. Anyway, that was my sole experience with anything feline and I didn't know the first thing about raising a cat.
I took nearly instantly to Abigael and the feeling appeared to be mutual. I spent many hours sitting in front of our living room window, coffee-in-hand-cat-in-lap. We'd watch the snow fall, we'd fall asleep. The time I spent with her was like a dream, vivid but surreal around the framing edges. I researched cat-care and was amazed at how independent they are and how easy it is. I fell in love. It happens and will happen again. Shortly after I came to live with Abigael, a woman I had met at my job needed a temporary house for her and her roommate's cats. I found the difference between their cats (Smudge and Baxter) and my Abigael to be somewhat interesting but mostly frustrating. I did not enjoy the new additions and felt like my home was overrun with cats. Baxter left in a week's time with the roommate but Smudge stayed. The woman I worked with called and asked that the situation become permanent as she could no longer care for her. I reluctantly agreed but soon after doing so, gave Smudge to namaste1979 who enjoyed her very much.
Alas, "all things move toward their end." Adam's tour in Alaska was completed and the choice to reenlist was before him. If you do not reenlist the Army asks where you would like to be flown to. We came home (Michigan) but didn't have a home to come to. So, when we arranged to stay with my mother while looking for a place to stay, we knew that Abigael would not be welcome. We found her a very good home with newly married friends of ours. I thought about her a lot the first year I was home. Now, it's a struggle to remember her exact mannerisms and what it was like to live with her. As I said above, it's as if were a dream. After all, she was a pet. In the grand scheme of things, she is easy to forget as life goes on. I don't miss her because I no longer have access to the thoughts I would need to do so. Time has a way of misplacing details and love is a very detailed and complex experience.
So, it wasn't long before we had our own place. It also wasn't long before we were given a kitten. I accepted the gift, from a friend, because I missed having a cat around. It's name was Fyodor sometimes, and Linus others. The story of how I came to have this cat, and then came to name it are two separate and long stories within stories. It's complicated, so obviously skinnybodydown was involved. I didn't take to Fyodor. He pooped behind the couch, lost hair incessantly, walked too close to candles, caught flame, and worst of all sucked his tail loudly and constantly. He didn't like me either. I gave him away.
A year passed. I moved to the house I am currently in. This house was built in 1817 and is your typical Amityville horror abode. Although I didn't see any evidence of rodent activity, I feared there would be mice. I've always lived in older houses growing up and I know that for the the high ceilings, wooden floors and elaborate detail you pay the price of about one mouse a year. This time I chose to get a cat for practical reasons. I dislike small rodents very much. But being that I had no proof of their presence I decided I may as well take my time and enjoy a cat from the very beginning. I went to a pet store and purchased a black and white kitten. I brought her home and introduced her as Jezebel.
I've enjoyed Jezebel very much. She dosen't elicit the same sort of response from me that Abigael did but she isn't Abigael. She acts very much the part I chose for her. She is a practical cat who does practical cat things. Each stage of her development has been by the book. And she has even caught rodents! Although, each kill has been made outside, still she does what cats do. Her body count includes: an earthworm, several baby frogs, 3 moles, a mouse, many grasshoppers, and possibly a baby bird (we weren't able to confirm the cause of death in that case).
I was taking a full load the semester I adopted Jezebel and was away from the house for the better part of the day. I happened upon an article that claimed cats do better with a companion and I saw not only a solution for her isolation but also one for my guilt over being away from her so much. I went back to the same pet store and purchased a second cat, first naming her Mary Ellen and then deciding Stella was a better fit. She is neurotic, bizarre, and of low intelligence but this has all been forgiven in light of her role. She was a gift for Jezebel, nothing more.
Then comes the day the handsome young Tom appears on our property. He sits outside the windows bellowing in attempt to swoon my girls. Stella takes no notice but Jezebel hears his cries of passion and responds by walking around the house with her arse in the air making all sorts of moans and cries. Just picture how I behave at pubs and bars and you will have a good idea. ;) Anyway, one night Adam comes home and is fed up with her racket and snatches her up and throws her out the front door calling, "have fun!" 9 weeks later we had six more cats.
At first kittens are very low-maintenance. The mother feds them, bathes them, and even takes care of their bathroom needs by...eh, let's skip that part. You find a box, (I used a large plastic storage container) place some soft bedding in the bottom and voila! The kittens live there for weeks with absolute zero trouble to anyone, save Mommy Cat. But! A few weeks later and madness is unleashed. They are everywhere and into everything. Luckily, we had no trouble finding homes for the kittens, and I can't even say it's because they were adorable. As I mentioned, Jezebel is a white and black cat and the father was bright orange. The batch they produced between them was a bit distorted from your average kitten. All but one went, and although he remains being cared for here we still consider him up for grabs. One day has a way of rolling quickly to into the next and he is nearly an adult cat now. An adult cat that lives here, but isn't really "ours." Right. The tricky part is that I actually prefer him to Stella but feel guilty for this preference. We want to get back down to two cats and I find myself thinking if one has to go... But this is nothing that needs deciding today and still when guests come to my house I do what is polite to do and offer that they take Stella away. So far, I've only entertained intelligent people; I think this has a lot to do with why she is currently sleeping at my feet.
Now this brings us up to present. This "extra" kitten grew up to be a man-cat and did the obvious, although since I had never considered it (still thinking of him as "Jezebel's kitten") it was a shock. He impregnated Stella. At the same time, Jezebel got out of the house and went missing for three days. She returned home one morning and life continued as usual. A few weeks passed and we came to a horrible realization: they were BOTH pregnant. I felt incredibly stupid. The night Adam threw Jezebel out the door, I remember laughing about it. We both agreed that if she became pregnant it would be a neat experience for Trent. We were hoping he would get to see the birth and the tiny creatures and watch them grow, happy happy, etc. And for the most part that was the way it went. Then, when I called the vet to arrange for Jezebel to get fixed post-birth I learned that you cannot have a cat fixed while it is nursing. I never counted on Jezebel escaping from the house while still producing milk (although, only feeding the matured kittens once a day, if that) and I never anticipated Bear (the male "kitten") mating with Stella. Nature has a way of foiling the optimistic clatter of human thought.
The appropriate time passed, and Stella was found snuggled against three fluff-balls. I was very thankful she had a small litter but looked on them with indifference. I waited for Jezebel to destroy this manageable situation with the secret number that was bloating her belly. She went into labor the next day, and finally Trent and I were able to see the birth (her first litter was born while we slept.) She panted and howled and as Stella lay close to her, nursing her own babies, Jezebel produced three more tiny cats. I clapped my hands! Not as bad as I thought! Six total, the same as Jezebel's first litter. So, I thought, it was just as if ONE of them had become pregnant. We would take extra precautions to keep both girls indoors while nursing and then have them fixed at the soonest possible date. I made a nest for the kittens and started to feel much better about the situation. That is, until the next day when Trent came running into the kitchen to inform me that Jezebel was "laying an egg." At first, I blew him off. "Cat's don't lay eggs, silly boy. We saw yesterday how a cat has her kittens." But when he insisted an egg was coming out of Jezebel I went to investigate. Instead of an egg, I found she was panting out a rounded little head--but one that was completely white! Jezebel gave birth to an albino and this time I was less than indifferent. I was fascinated by the little mutant! But my fascination grew to horror moments later when I saw another, darker head emerging. Something about this kitten looked off, but I couldn't quite tell what the trouble was until it was completely out. It was born, with placenta in tow, still in the embryonic sac. I saw it's tiny paws pressing against the clear walls, struggling to get out. I ran and got scissors and threw a towel in the dryer. I carefully cut away the sac and sent Trent for q-tips. I cleaned out the tiny mouth until the cat was sputtering and coughing and then placed it in the warm towel and began massaging it's tiny body. The kitten became animated and when placed at Jezebels tit, nursed hungrily. Now, to read this you might imagine the whole thing went very smoothly. I assure you it did not. I am not medically inclined in any way, shape or form. So, the entire procedure was accompanied by my gagging and followed by, "Never, ever say the words Mommy was just saying." But the situation was handled. Then, the trouble began.
For the next several days, both Stella and Jezebel attempted to isolate these last two kittens from the rest. I was constantly finding them off in some corner, huddled together, and bringing them back to nurse. Eventually, Jezebel and Stella accepted them and they nursed regularly with the others and the attempts to isolate them stopped. As for who nursed which babies, that detail soon blurred. Jezebel is and has been content to nurse whatever kittens are hungry and so has Stella save for one minor detail. Stella constantly relocates three of the kittens and nurses them separately, although, which three she picks is always random. Is that proof cats can count? Anyway, she is seriously strange. Jezebel has caught on and again and again reunites the kittens to one large group. Sometimes, Stella is a part of this group and nurses Jezebel along with the kittens. She makes me shudder.
Two nights ago, Adam was sitting on the couch working on his laptop. He asked how the kittens were doing and if I was still having a difficult time with the Moms feeding the albino and sac-baby. I went and got the "kitty-box" and sat cross-legged on the floor. I began picking them out, one-by-one, and telling him the small things I'd noticed about each. "And this here is the little fellow we almost lost..." I screamed and quickly put him back in the box. When I picked him up from what I assumed was a sleeping position, he stiffly kept it. "He IS dead. Adam, oh my god!" Adam has a very dark sense of humor. My smiling face turned up to look at him, classifying the dead kitty as the one we almost lost, the kitty stretched out in a freakishly morbid pose, my quick realization that I was holding a corpse, my face's migration toward horror...it was too much for him. He roared with laughter. "Adam, you're sick!"
I can't say that I was all that sad or if I was it was more of a generalized sadness. The quiet that passes through a mind when you learn of the death of anything innocent. We took the small body away and neither Jezebel or Stella protested.
After the death of the kitten, I did some research and watched the others carefully. It is now appearing that most of them, the albino in particular, are suffering from anemia. This mandates that I check them all over for fleas, ticks, anything at all that depletes their blood. I have to give them warm baths and blow dry their hair when I'm done. It's been very taxing, but they appear to be improving from the holistics. I'll admit to being very attached to the albino who yesterday was too weak to fight against the bath and just floated in my hand while I bathed it. This morning, when I woke, I found it bouncing around the kitchen. Most of the kittens have improved a great deal.
So, that is where I am at right now in my experience with cats. I have no sentiment to describe, but would hate to lose another kitten before I can find them good homes. I guess there was no real purpose to this post other than highlighting one detail of my life; my pets. But why not? My life would be very different without them.
My mother dosen't like cats, and that's putting it lightly. If pressed, she will throw out adjectives such as "evil" and "filthy." I think something traumatic happened to her when she was a small child that she associates with cats. I've never got a clear picture of what exactly, but I know when she was a girl she had to go stay with my great-grandmother for a time, and there she and my great-grandmother got into the habit of poisoning the neighborhood cats by leaving discreet dishes of milk and chemical around the gardens. My mother recalls the murders casually and with an air of vigilante justice but never hints at the source of their morbid plan. Thus, I've always believed there was more to the story. My father and I have discussed this and he believes my mother may have been severely sexually abused at a young age by her step-father, but he says that he has never been told anything absolute. We speculate only. The cat-murders are one of my mother's biggest mysteries.
Dogs are a different story. My mother, how she loves the neurotic Cocker Spaniel. I grew up with one after the next. A total of three; Gertrude McFuzz (Gertie), Humphrey, and Lexi. In a karmatic twist of fate, Gertie was poisoned by an elderly neighbor who often complained of her barking, and Lexi was the replacement. Humphrey was a dog that came to our door one winter, cold and hungry and wearing a horrible sweater claiming he was a "Bird-dog." We took him to the vet and discovered he had a chip in his neck. We called the number registered to the chip and the woman who answered said she had been looking for "Rosco" for days. We drove him home. When my mother saw the house he belonged to she gasped. Rosco/Humphrey lived in a run down duplex that had a mattress propped in front of the living room window for curtains and about four inches of trash covering the front porch. She was a bitch to the woman who answered the door and later that night ordered my sister to go steal him from the yard. So, that is how we came to have Humphrey; the fast way, ski-mask way. ;)
When Adam and I moved to Alaska and I had my own household for the first time, I decided that I might like to have a cat for a pet. I went to the animal shelter and adopted a jet-black teenage cat and named her Abigael. I wasn't sure how it would go; I knew nothing of cats and had never been allowed to own one. Well, that's not entirely true. When my mother left my father and he had a nervous breakdown and left his psychology practice to become a farmer, he got me a kitten. This was likely as much a reward for me as it was a shot at my cat-loathing mother. I named it Gizmo and had it for about two weeks before a horse stepped on it's head. I've never seen anything like that since, it was like a cartoon death; the 3D body attached to the pancake-head. Anyway, that was my sole experience with anything feline and I didn't know the first thing about raising a cat.
I took nearly instantly to Abigael and the feeling appeared to be mutual. I spent many hours sitting in front of our living room window, coffee-in-hand-cat-in-lap. We'd watch the snow fall, we'd fall asleep. The time I spent with her was like a dream, vivid but surreal around the framing edges. I researched cat-care and was amazed at how independent they are and how easy it is. I fell in love. It happens and will happen again. Shortly after I came to live with Abigael, a woman I had met at my job needed a temporary house for her and her roommate's cats. I found the difference between their cats (Smudge and Baxter) and my Abigael to be somewhat interesting but mostly frustrating. I did not enjoy the new additions and felt like my home was overrun with cats. Baxter left in a week's time with the roommate but Smudge stayed. The woman I worked with called and asked that the situation become permanent as she could no longer care for her. I reluctantly agreed but soon after doing so, gave Smudge to namaste1979 who enjoyed her very much.
Alas, "all things move toward their end." Adam's tour in Alaska was completed and the choice to reenlist was before him. If you do not reenlist the Army asks where you would like to be flown to. We came home (Michigan) but didn't have a home to come to. So, when we arranged to stay with my mother while looking for a place to stay, we knew that Abigael would not be welcome. We found her a very good home with newly married friends of ours. I thought about her a lot the first year I was home. Now, it's a struggle to remember her exact mannerisms and what it was like to live with her. As I said above, it's as if were a dream. After all, she was a pet. In the grand scheme of things, she is easy to forget as life goes on. I don't miss her because I no longer have access to the thoughts I would need to do so. Time has a way of misplacing details and love is a very detailed and complex experience.
So, it wasn't long before we had our own place. It also wasn't long before we were given a kitten. I accepted the gift, from a friend, because I missed having a cat around. It's name was Fyodor sometimes, and Linus others. The story of how I came to have this cat, and then came to name it are two separate and long stories within stories. It's complicated, so obviously skinnybodydown was involved. I didn't take to Fyodor. He pooped behind the couch, lost hair incessantly, walked too close to candles, caught flame, and worst of all sucked his tail loudly and constantly. He didn't like me either. I gave him away.
A year passed. I moved to the house I am currently in. This house was built in 1817 and is your typical Amityville horror abode. Although I didn't see any evidence of rodent activity, I feared there would be mice. I've always lived in older houses growing up and I know that for the the high ceilings, wooden floors and elaborate detail you pay the price of about one mouse a year. This time I chose to get a cat for practical reasons. I dislike small rodents very much. But being that I had no proof of their presence I decided I may as well take my time and enjoy a cat from the very beginning. I went to a pet store and purchased a black and white kitten. I brought her home and introduced her as Jezebel.
I've enjoyed Jezebel very much. She dosen't elicit the same sort of response from me that Abigael did but she isn't Abigael. She acts very much the part I chose for her. She is a practical cat who does practical cat things. Each stage of her development has been by the book. And she has even caught rodents! Although, each kill has been made outside, still she does what cats do. Her body count includes: an earthworm, several baby frogs, 3 moles, a mouse, many grasshoppers, and possibly a baby bird (we weren't able to confirm the cause of death in that case).
I was taking a full load the semester I adopted Jezebel and was away from the house for the better part of the day. I happened upon an article that claimed cats do better with a companion and I saw not only a solution for her isolation but also one for my guilt over being away from her so much. I went back to the same pet store and purchased a second cat, first naming her Mary Ellen and then deciding Stella was a better fit. She is neurotic, bizarre, and of low intelligence but this has all been forgiven in light of her role. She was a gift for Jezebel, nothing more.
Then comes the day the handsome young Tom appears on our property. He sits outside the windows bellowing in attempt to swoon my girls. Stella takes no notice but Jezebel hears his cries of passion and responds by walking around the house with her arse in the air making all sorts of moans and cries. Just picture how I behave at pubs and bars and you will have a good idea. ;) Anyway, one night Adam comes home and is fed up with her racket and snatches her up and throws her out the front door calling, "have fun!" 9 weeks later we had six more cats.
At first kittens are very low-maintenance. The mother feds them, bathes them, and even takes care of their bathroom needs by...eh, let's skip that part. You find a box, (I used a large plastic storage container) place some soft bedding in the bottom and voila! The kittens live there for weeks with absolute zero trouble to anyone, save Mommy Cat. But! A few weeks later and madness is unleashed. They are everywhere and into everything. Luckily, we had no trouble finding homes for the kittens, and I can't even say it's because they were adorable. As I mentioned, Jezebel is a white and black cat and the father was bright orange. The batch they produced between them was a bit distorted from your average kitten. All but one went, and although he remains being cared for here we still consider him up for grabs. One day has a way of rolling quickly to into the next and he is nearly an adult cat now. An adult cat that lives here, but isn't really "ours." Right. The tricky part is that I actually prefer him to Stella but feel guilty for this preference. We want to get back down to two cats and I find myself thinking if one has to go... But this is nothing that needs deciding today and still when guests come to my house I do what is polite to do and offer that they take Stella away. So far, I've only entertained intelligent people; I think this has a lot to do with why she is currently sleeping at my feet.
Now this brings us up to present. This "extra" kitten grew up to be a man-cat and did the obvious, although since I had never considered it (still thinking of him as "Jezebel's kitten") it was a shock. He impregnated Stella. At the same time, Jezebel got out of the house and went missing for three days. She returned home one morning and life continued as usual. A few weeks passed and we came to a horrible realization: they were BOTH pregnant. I felt incredibly stupid. The night Adam threw Jezebel out the door, I remember laughing about it. We both agreed that if she became pregnant it would be a neat experience for Trent. We were hoping he would get to see the birth and the tiny creatures and watch them grow, happy happy, etc. And for the most part that was the way it went. Then, when I called the vet to arrange for Jezebel to get fixed post-birth I learned that you cannot have a cat fixed while it is nursing. I never counted on Jezebel escaping from the house while still producing milk (although, only feeding the matured kittens once a day, if that) and I never anticipated Bear (the male "kitten") mating with Stella. Nature has a way of foiling the optimistic clatter of human thought.
The appropriate time passed, and Stella was found snuggled against three fluff-balls. I was very thankful she had a small litter but looked on them with indifference. I waited for Jezebel to destroy this manageable situation with the secret number that was bloating her belly. She went into labor the next day, and finally Trent and I were able to see the birth (her first litter was born while we slept.) She panted and howled and as Stella lay close to her, nursing her own babies, Jezebel produced three more tiny cats. I clapped my hands! Not as bad as I thought! Six total, the same as Jezebel's first litter. So, I thought, it was just as if ONE of them had become pregnant. We would take extra precautions to keep both girls indoors while nursing and then have them fixed at the soonest possible date. I made a nest for the kittens and started to feel much better about the situation. That is, until the next day when Trent came running into the kitchen to inform me that Jezebel was "laying an egg." At first, I blew him off. "Cat's don't lay eggs, silly boy. We saw yesterday how a cat has her kittens." But when he insisted an egg was coming out of Jezebel I went to investigate. Instead of an egg, I found she was panting out a rounded little head--but one that was completely white! Jezebel gave birth to an albino and this time I was less than indifferent. I was fascinated by the little mutant! But my fascination grew to horror moments later when I saw another, darker head emerging. Something about this kitten looked off, but I couldn't quite tell what the trouble was until it was completely out. It was born, with placenta in tow, still in the embryonic sac. I saw it's tiny paws pressing against the clear walls, struggling to get out. I ran and got scissors and threw a towel in the dryer. I carefully cut away the sac and sent Trent for q-tips. I cleaned out the tiny mouth until the cat was sputtering and coughing and then placed it in the warm towel and began massaging it's tiny body. The kitten became animated and when placed at Jezebels tit, nursed hungrily. Now, to read this you might imagine the whole thing went very smoothly. I assure you it did not. I am not medically inclined in any way, shape or form. So, the entire procedure was accompanied by my gagging and followed by, "Never, ever say the words Mommy was just saying." But the situation was handled. Then, the trouble began.
For the next several days, both Stella and Jezebel attempted to isolate these last two kittens from the rest. I was constantly finding them off in some corner, huddled together, and bringing them back to nurse. Eventually, Jezebel and Stella accepted them and they nursed regularly with the others and the attempts to isolate them stopped. As for who nursed which babies, that detail soon blurred. Jezebel is and has been content to nurse whatever kittens are hungry and so has Stella save for one minor detail. Stella constantly relocates three of the kittens and nurses them separately, although, which three she picks is always random. Is that proof cats can count? Anyway, she is seriously strange. Jezebel has caught on and again and again reunites the kittens to one large group. Sometimes, Stella is a part of this group and nurses Jezebel along with the kittens. She makes me shudder.
Two nights ago, Adam was sitting on the couch working on his laptop. He asked how the kittens were doing and if I was still having a difficult time with the Moms feeding the albino and sac-baby. I went and got the "kitty-box" and sat cross-legged on the floor. I began picking them out, one-by-one, and telling him the small things I'd noticed about each. "And this here is the little fellow we almost lost..." I screamed and quickly put him back in the box. When I picked him up from what I assumed was a sleeping position, he stiffly kept it. "He IS dead. Adam, oh my god!" Adam has a very dark sense of humor. My smiling face turned up to look at him, classifying the dead kitty as the one we almost lost, the kitty stretched out in a freakishly morbid pose, my quick realization that I was holding a corpse, my face's migration toward horror...it was too much for him. He roared with laughter. "Adam, you're sick!"
I can't say that I was all that sad or if I was it was more of a generalized sadness. The quiet that passes through a mind when you learn of the death of anything innocent. We took the small body away and neither Jezebel or Stella protested.
After the death of the kitten, I did some research and watched the others carefully. It is now appearing that most of them, the albino in particular, are suffering from anemia. This mandates that I check them all over for fleas, ticks, anything at all that depletes their blood. I have to give them warm baths and blow dry their hair when I'm done. It's been very taxing, but they appear to be improving from the holistics. I'll admit to being very attached to the albino who yesterday was too weak to fight against the bath and just floated in my hand while I bathed it. This morning, when I woke, I found it bouncing around the kitchen. Most of the kittens have improved a great deal.
So, that is where I am at right now in my experience with cats. I have no sentiment to describe, but would hate to lose another kitten before I can find them good homes. I guess there was no real purpose to this post other than highlighting one detail of my life; my pets. But why not? My life would be very different without them.