Those of you who follow my kitten sagas know I’m raising two abandoned furbabies, about three and a half weeks old now. I told myself if I got them through to my birthday, they’d be well on their way, and I have. The runty one is roly poly. Thanks to the antibiotic, he’s over his respiratory infection. His bigger brother is over a more minor infection and a good weight. Both are bright-eyed and content. I’m daring to hope they will grow into happy cats. They purr and are affectionate, so despite their challenges, the odds are steadily improving.
Peaches is light apricot, a very pale orange tabby, with muted stripes. Cream is white with gold tipped ears, tail, and paws. He’s trying to be Siamese. I plan to keep Peaches. A dear friend wants Cream. We shall see on down the road if the brothers can bear to be parted. Maybe the question is whether I can bear for them to be parted. They’ll have play dates.
“A kitten is, in the animal world, what a rosebud is in the garden.”
― Robert Sowthey
“It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that whatever you say to them, they always purr.”
― Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There
“Purr more, hiss less”
― Linda C. Marchman
“The kitten was six weeks old. It was enchanting, a delicate fairy-tale cat, whose Siamese genes showed in the shape of the face, ears, tail, and the subtle lines of its body. […] She sat, a tiny thing, in the middle of a yellow carpet, surrounded by five worshipppers, not at all afraid of us. Then she stalked around that floor of the house, inspecting every inch of it, climbed up on to my bed, crept under the fold of a sheet, and was at home.”
― Doris Lessing, On Cats