In case you missed it, Fizzbin went home on Friday (I delivered her myself). She didn’t love being in the carrier (sang the entire 40 minute drive), but once we were at our destination she purred like crazy, checked out her surroundings, and could not have been less concerned.
She joined a home with another young kitty to play with, an older tolerant kitty, AND three little girls who will spoil her rotten.
She was all “Excuse you, lady, we is tryin’ to sleep!”
She’s a talker, that one.
A shot of the toes.
I posted a picture of the kittens on the cat tree Friday, and someone asked if they were arranged in how they were going to be adopted. They were not, and I briefly considered trying to get a picture of them arranged that way. But arranged kittens don’t stay that way for more than an instant, so I didn’t seriously consider it.
BUT THEN.
I walked out of the bathroom Friday morning after my shower, and all the kittens were on the cat tree again (it’s right outside the bathroom door and a convenient location for them to wait for me, since once I’ve showered and dressed, they get their breakfast.) AND they were all arranged in the groupings in which they were going to be adopted, and luckily I got a shot of them.
Slapjack & Rummy, top.
Pinochle, Uno and Whist, middle.
Fizzbin, bottom.
If I’d tried to get them arranged that way you KNOW they’d have never stayed.
Whist the snuggler.
Pinochle gives Uno a hug.
Uncle Charlie was giving Rummy a bath (or should I say, a bath with some intermittent biting), and Whist had to snoopervise.
As did Slapjack.
Pinochle, Whist and Uno were going to go home tomorrow, but I got word yesterday that Friday works better. So we get to keep them ’til Friday! And Slapjack and Rummy will go home over the weekend.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jake makes himself comfy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Previously
2020: Mr. Ratty better watch his back.
2019: Almanzo in the pillow cave.
2018: Brian Boitano thinks Picabo makes a perfect pillow.
2017: Hey, he’s 8 weeks old. Give him time to hone his ponderings.
2016: Apparently he’s always been skeptical!
2015: No entry.
2014: Livia needs a home!
2013: “Ruth is laying on my ARM, and my ARM fell ASLEEP and I don’t want to move ’cause it might wake her up!”
2012: Is it possible for tomatoes to ripen ANY more slowly?
2011: Miss Dorfy loves her some Jake.
2010: No entry.
2009: She’s got a lot to say and BOY does she say it.
2008: No entry.
2007: So the dog has a safe and happy home, and since it ain’t with ME, I am thrilled beyond belief.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
Wha’…? You get to shower and dress before you feed cats and kittens??
And here I thought every cat owner was woken up at the crack of unholy dawn by a chubby cat standing on their chest and pawing their face, insisting on being fed.
To be fair, Fred feeds the permanent residents when he gets up at some ridiculous hour (between 4 and 5). And I refuse to do anything else ’til I’ve had my shower. The kittens don’t love it (and ohhhh how they howl to get into the bathroom), but I’M IN CHARGE. (Ha ha)