And Hope is her name. A 4 week old, stumbling, manic kitten who loves her ostrich meat and sleeps a lot. It's been a while since I had new life in my world, the unicorn meat eating cats are 11, and I love it. She is Hope itself. A friend who is 18 spent the night to play with kitten self, and she is hope as well. As ancient as I am at 47, I barely remember being that young. Although I imagine Grandma Moses would think the same about me.
And there is something worse than lying in the dark, listening to the cat heave, and knowing you can't get there in time...having the cat become frantic and seek to outrun it's nausea.
Chicken and collards and cornbread for dinner and scored some squash and cukes when I took the friend home. How Southern can ya get?