Tag Archives: kittens

I add to my list of questions for God

Why serial killers are handsome, and sociopaths charming, as if we don’t have enough trouble telling good from bad. Whether islands float, or go all the way down. Why baby animals are so much cuter than baby people. Related, why humans don’t have fur, which would make us more attractive as we age. Also warmer. […]


Listen, they said, in the way of their kind, not caring if I did. The small rumble, the soft staccato of pearls tumbling into air from bodies too new to know, blind and modest as a palm, or a memory. Tiny ears tucked like page markers in a long book whose stories you love. From birth, […]

In which Giles lives, and I am reminded, again, that I know nothing

Two weeks ago, I wrote about an ailing kitten, one of a litter I’ve fostered since they were prematurely removed from their mother at the age of four weeks. After a robust start, Giles, whom I considered the valedictorian of the group — a quick study with the litter box, confident and affectionate  — stalled.  […]

When I grow up

Foster kitten Buffy studies a caracal as it descends from an acrobatic leap. The African wild cat can jump 10 feet into the air to snag birds in flight. Buffy can jump 10 inches into the air and land squarely on her brother Spike.

Rounded by a sleep

I have been practicing the possibility, testing it with the tongue of my mind.  It feels like nettles, stinging and bitter.  He is going to die. Giles is an orange kitten, perhaps 10 weeks old;  his mom was feral, so his age is an estimate.  He and three siblings have lived with me for more […]

Just like your son

Reclining in the soft towel atop the radiator, he lacks only a tiny TV, the NFL channel and the ability to belch to be totally the kind of guy you know will always miss the toilet. And just. not. care. Because in his diminutive kitten brain — topped by immense bat ears — this litter box thing is my issue, not his.




I was all set to write my Thanksgiving post, but writing anything has been nearly impossible since this happened: I have fostered kittens before, successfully if that means getting them safely reared and placed in good homes, unsuccessfully if that means one of those homes should not be mine, which it was and which 9 […]

Tokens of ourselves

I was deep in the middle of a dream early this morning when I sensed, vaguely, a familiar heaviness on the bed. Then, the sleep-obliterating voice of my black cat Spot. “Me,” he said. “Ow.” He had a point. It was past 7 a.m., and I would usually have been up for some time. But […]