Moms on the run
If I were a sappier sort, I might say that mama cats are like snowflakes: no two are exactly alike. But I’ve been around cats long enough to know that metaphor doesn’t quite work. Mama cats are more like…Koosh balls.
If I were a sappier sort, I might say that mama cats are like snowflakes: no two are exactly alike. But I’ve been around cats long enough to know that metaphor doesn’t quite work. Mama cats are more like…Koosh balls.
Tabby’s Place is blessed in many ways. But as of this afternoon, we are woefully short in a key commodity: cats whose names end with the seventh letter of the Greek alphabet.
There’s pretty much nothing sub-stellar about kittens. Well…maybe there’s one wretched exception: they are so blasted fragile. As the always-honest Dr. C told me a few years ago, it’s rare to have a kitten season where you don’t “lose some.”
I’m not sure who said it first. But somewhere in the last few weeks, several of us foolish human beans have dared to remark, “It’s awfully late in kitten season for us to have no kittens.” Foolish, foolish human beans.