Kittens! Kittens everywhere!
It was terrifying. Mortifying. A nightmare.
She stifled a scream. Then she stifled a yawn.
The warm, cuddly kitten bodies, like a soft, purring blanket, lulled her, despite her best efforts, off to sleep. And as she slept, she dreamed about the tigers that ate her mom.
A kitten lounged in the sun.
“It’s a kitty cat!” said a little boy. “Can I keep him?”
Mommy smiled. “He’s ours, you know. We got him yesterday!”
“Can we call him Stanley Cup?”
“Yesterday you named him Winnie the Pooh,” said mommy patiently.
“But now I’m more growed up!”
“Finally!” complained Fluffy the cat in the softly exasperated voice of a young mother. “The kittens are down for nap time. All they ever do is eat, sleep, and whine!”
Mittens, her husband, mewed appreciatively. “What should we do with our free time?”
“Grab a snack and get some shuteye.”
I gave my dad a pair of socks for Fathers’ Day. They were gray and had a mouse face on them with whiskers sticking out from the toes.
They were a gag gift, but he wore them all day.
I also paid to reattach his toe after the cat incident.
With feline grace, the household predator crept to the base of the table. Above, her prey slept, carefree.
With two quick hops, it was all over.
The cat smiled to herself through a crunchy mouthful of cat food. Yep, she still had it.
Her next sneak attack victim? The litterbox!