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Hope and kittens spring eternal.
My neighbor's cat got out and socialized at a crucial time and it was agreed while she was gestating that I would take at least one of any black kittens she might produce (I just like black cats).
The little black male came to live with me at six weeks. Sooner and smaller than I really wanted (8 weeks and two pounds) but they said Mama wasn't nursing them anymore, they're getting rambunctious and underfoot so please TAKE YOUR KITTEN!
Tiny little scrap of life...I'm bigger by a factor of hundreds, and yet the trust Finnegan shows me is humbling. Playing around my feet, he knows I'll be most careful not to step on him...we've had a few miscalculations but nothing worse than OW! on his part. The gladness with which he greets me when I wake up, or return...rolling, mrrowing, LOUD purr. Or I'll be sitting doing something and I'll hear mmmrrrrrr and suddenly a furry little motor has plunked itself between my book or handwork and my face and settled in for some serious purring (the older cats are too big for the chest perch and settle for the lap).
Yes, I'm 'nice' to my cats. I feed them good stuff, they get good medical care, treats, lots of interaction, and I'm gentle and respectful of their persons...but it still blows me away, the trust, affection, and acceptance they give me.
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