Kittens are kittens, until they are not. It’s for hard-hitting facts like this that you turn to Felis Catus.
I had a regular blog post queued up for today, I did. It was stupid and normal and made jokes about Swamp People and vegan cheese and cat flatulence.* But in light of the week our world is having, stupid and normal and flatulent went out the window.
Lord have mercy. Those words have escaped my lips more times than I can count this week, and not in the “Uncle Jesse from Full House” sense.
Do you hear that sound? No, it’s not the Horn of Gondor. No, it’s not your mother calling you to dinner. No, it’s not Santa. It’s KITTENS.
I don’t know where your mind wanders when it wanders. I don’t know what’s on your heart and on your soul today. I do know, with the certainty of 10,000 credos, that you are about to be emptied of all such things.
If you’ve read Felis Catus for any length of time, you know Carolina Cat Lover. And if you have a heart and a soul, you love CCL’s gentle, generous ways.
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.
Look: a sleepy kitten bathing in the sunshine. Now, what was that thing you were worrying about?