Kittens

Around here, there’s been a lot of cat talk lately. Our Montana family’s cat, Lady Ga Ga Kitty, just had kittens.

Around here, we’re lucky to have a veterinarian who does house calls. Tess, our pet doctor, is awesome, patient and cultivating quite an animal lover in my ladies. Three kids, a senile kitty and a Great Dane are just too much for a minivan, most days.

And, around here, Lucy enjoys home vet visits, holds a furry paw at shot’s time and listens, intently, with stethoscopes. For two and a half years Lucy has been in our living room at each appointment and, for this, I’m grateful.
Over Sunday’s oatmeal brunch I read an Islander news story aloud about six calico baby kitties mothered by sister cats. One cat had two, four to the other.
“Sisters?!” smiled Betty, “Just like me and Lucy.”
“But,” whined Lucy, “We’re not kitties, silly.”
“Let’s bring them dinner,” suggested Betty.
Well, she was right. That’s what islanders do. With baby Olive, we had weeks and weeks of tasty meals.

“No, let’s bring them toys,” yelled Lucy.

And with that, the girls decided to make marker-colored mice with balloon ribbon tales because, hey, our cat Princess Slinky Chip-a-wa-meow-meow (really, her name is another story) loves the one Betty made a week ago.

Betty traced the mouse body, Lucy helped cut the ribbon tales and I called ahead to see if it was alright.



Of course our beautiful island values it’s animals enough to have an incredible view from the shelter, just south of the airport.


Of course they greeted us on a beautiful day with open arms – us, basket full of handmade kitty mice and hearts full of smiles.


We met the sister-mamas.


“Just like us,” said Betty and Lucy, alternately and repetitively.



So proud, my ladies, when the kitty-babes loved the mice. So sweet, tiny hands in all that whiskery fur.
My ladies loved, loved, the animal art on Island Shelter’s walls. Apparently someone primed the canvas and let kitty paws, well, paint. Now Lucy has all sorts of ideas for Slinky. Maybe I should keep the finger paints locked up. There’s no limit as to what may happen while I’m not looking.

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