Since it looks like he’s here to stay, allow me to introduce that new guy in my life, the one I quickly mentioned earlier.
He showed up at our door unsolicited, so I thought about calling him Spam. Spiff and Spam, that sounded kind of good. But why give such a nasty name to such a sweet guy? For some reason I started referring to him as The Mini, and the name has stuck, for now. So here he comes, The Mini.
I couldn’t decide if I wanted to commit to owning a new pet (Spiff is Blork’s cat, and he’s 14…) but this little guy shows up at my door and here I go, my heart melting, my arms opening wide. That’s me. If you want me to become a mother, don’t ask me to make the decision. I’ll agonize over it for years. Just drop a baby on my doorstep and I’ll commit to 20 years (plus) of madness without a second thought. I will most likely never have children (by choice) but if you manage to force me into an orphanage, I won’t come out of there without a couple of kids in my arms.
The new guy is about 5 months old (according to the vet), smaller than a keyboard, purrs as loud as a truck and loves to play in the snow. He is getting bolder every day and has now perfected spectacular moves of attack on Spiff, who’s not very pleased with this annoying youngster. Our house is filled with the sounds of exciting chase scenes. Who needs television when you have a kitten? I found both felines in bed with Blork this morning, during an unusual truce, so I’m hoping things will get better in a few weeks.
When he’s done chasing Spiff around the house, The Mini knows where to find me. I wonder how I’m going to get any work done when he grows bigger.
