Papa thinks the kittens are old enough now for me to chose. Their mother now patrols only on occasion, and seems to lose interest quickly. Annie trails swiftly behind me as I approach the fluffy little bunch. A little tabby darted under a nearby dumpster, and Annie runs after the mottled pair, catching each by the scruff. The runt doesn't move, but rather eyes me carefully. His posture is proud (I believe it's a tom from the way he holds himself) and erect like a king. I kneel slowly in front of him, baiting with a sardine from the kitchen. He can't resist, pulling the scaly fish almost delicately from my grasp. I pull a hand squarely under his lithe chest, lifting him from the ground. He doesn't struggle or fuss, but basks in the attention, as if to say 'yes I care for another sardine.'
Little Eddie cooed at the kitty, latching on to its tail. King, I've decided to call him, bats playfully at the baby's hand. Eddie erupts in a fit of laugh which soon turns to a cry as the cat swatted at his face.
After I put the baby down for his nap, I have a bit of time to myself and decide to read from a book of stories Papa got me in celebration of America's Independence Day the weekend before. I'll try to write later.
YOU ARE READING
The Jessa Hopkins Chronicles
RandomThe sea had been treacherous as Jessa and her family had journeyed, by way of the ship called the sparrow, to the shores of America. It had docked briefly in the Boston Harbor, before sailing off again for New York. It had meant only to gather suppl...
