The kittens, oh lord. I don’t know how on earth I am resisting picking them up and squeezing them to death, but so far they are completely alive. I walk into the room, I sit on the floor, and one by one they (and by “they” I mean Delmar, Lem and Marion. Claudette still doesn’t want much to do with me.) approach me, they purr loudly, they sit against me, and sometimes if I’m not quick enough with the petting, they meow sadly up at me. And for at least ten minutes, I pet. And I pet. And I pet. And I rub bellies. And I kiss fuzzy little heads. Eventually their love banks are topped up, and they move away from me to play with toys or each other, or just roll around in the sun.
Marion has such pretty colors.
Delmar atop the cat tree.
Bath time!
But they always come back for love.
These kittens = exactly what a cranky woman needs.
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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Cleanliness is next to Sugarbuttliness.
Hey Robyn — maybe you’ve addressed this before, if so I missed it. Why don’t you pick the kittens up? I understand when you first got them and they were scared of you, but now that they’re so friendly, and of course irresistible, how come??? Are you trying to keep from getting too attched? Or keep kittys from becoming attached to you? Why oh why??? 🙂
Oh, I do occasionally pick them up, but it makes them very nervous, some of them more than others. Delmar doesn’t mind being held and Lem will put up with it momentarily, but the girls get really tense and scared when I pick them up, so I avoid it for the most part. 🙂