So we got this kitten. She’s pretty cute.
She weighs less than a half-full Miller High Life (or so it seems) and she seems to be warming up to That Jake, even though he’s made a practice of pouncing towards her as though she were the Mammoth Maine Coon and he the Tiny Tabby. B! and I decided, nearly a year ago, that we would name her Mozambique and call her Mozey for short. “With a “Z”!” I trilled happily, flush with kitten fever.
And now I kind of fel like the parent of a newborn, all glowy and gushing, brandishing blurry pictures on my iPhone to anyone with one good eye. But I’m kind of grossed out, too. That Jake is, like, always smelling her butt. And today he used her litter. And then she sniffed the litter he used, and used it again.
It made me feel weird.