Happy October from our little-limbed sweetheart.
Brielle is sweeping into autumn with her usual peace, colossal presence, and — wait, what’s that? A tiny smidge of…insecurity?
Maybe.
You be the judge of what was happening here: On an ordinary afternoon, an extraordinary horde of adopters stampeded into the Community Room. They cooed. They oohed. They coddled every kitten in sight, then went seeking the unseen kittens for unsought affection. Not a kitten was left unsmooshed that day.
Not a kitten…but at least one very surprised adult cat.
As always, Brielle hadn’t missed anything. Eyes half-closed, she’d observed every move, biding her time and trusting that the visitors would, as reasonable people, eventually be enchanted by her Brielliance. About ten minutes into this celebration of baby love, it became clear that these folks only had eyes for cats of a certain age.
Brielle did what she had to do. She sounded the alarm.
I must point out that Brielle is generally not a loud cat – perhaps a 3 on a scale from “cone of silence” to “Chuck E. Cheese”. Her purr is demure, her hiss reserved for Queen, her meow reserved only for when there’s something worth shouting about.
But this, this was time for shouting.
Meow. Meow. MEEEOW MEOW MEEEOWWW!! Brielle very nearly wailed an aria, bounding from the conference table to a tall crate and back again, repeatedly. The translation was clear: Look at me. LOOK AT ME. I am leaping. I am crooning. I am Brielle and I AM SO MUCH SUNSHINE TO THE SQUARE INCH!
Not-so-subtle subtext: Do you really, really only have eyes for infants?
This was where my heart melted into a veritable puddle of pudding, and I oozed on over to love on our girl. Satisfied with this, Brielle spun and sashayed back and forth beneath my hand, head-butting me and purring loudly enough to make every kitten shake.
Yes, Brielle, I promised, you’ve still got it. No kitten holds a candle to your blaze.
And with that, Brielle lay back down and went into a deep and dreamy sleep.
You be the judge, dear sponsors: did Brielle have a moment of angst there? Or was she just making sure that we’re on our game – a fire drill, if you will?
Either way, we’re happily, hopelessly wrapped around her little lobster-claw paws.
Thank you for loving our little wonder so faithfully and generously. Brielle and I hope you have an October filled with joy — and dear ones who see you for the wonder you are.