I love kittens, but they’re lethal killers in training.
Let’s be candid. It takes a brave human to say they dislike kittens. We now have three of them, born in the closet just like the previous litter three years ago. The mother, Pumpkin, is essentially a feral cat who lives in our home. We’re proponents of fixing animals for their health and safety, but Pumpkin. . . .well, she prefers to do things her own way.
We had a rather robust storm some months back that caused a previously sound door to fly open. Cats escaped. Cats came back. Missy is, in all ways, a Cat Whisperer. Without her efforts, we would still be waving cans of tuna around the back yard in hopes of luring Pumpkin back into her home.
Pumpkin did not.
Enter Georgie. Literally.
Georgie is a battle-scarred tomcat who has several qualities: he’s lovable, fertile, and produces the nicest kittens I’ve ever seen. We recently began seducing him with warm pillows. This is Georgie.
Georgie and Pumpkin are like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. They were meant to be together. And darned if they don’t make beautiful babies, who are all whisked away to wonderful homes because– well, look at them.
They’re unbelievably cute little nuggets of cuddlefuzz. Even the most rock-ribbed lumberjack says so. Let’s meet the current crop, shall we?
This is Flour. He’s confident. His brothers are Hazel and Filbert (Teddy names all kittens, and has a bit of a cooking ingredient fascination at this time).