Nobody talks back to Taco.
We’ll be home tomorrow, Boo.
The landlord is away on business for the week. The creatures are so beside themselves they crawled into the tub to pout. Lucky for them I shooed them away before turning on the faucet.
It’s hard to believe that we’ve had the creatures for a full year already. One year ago today we brought home two tiny 2.8 pound kittens, terrified bundles of fur and playfulness. They’ve cost me a fortune, shit on every square inch of the apartment, and developed comical habits that are as endearing as they are entertaining. Best of all, they enjoy a good snuggle.
My little furbabies. They’ve stolen my heart.
When the creatures are happy they squeeze their little fists open and shut, methodically stretching and coiling their fingers. Similar to purring, it’s a sign of contentment. Usually, this squeezing is done against our bodies, on our thighs or arms as they lay in our laps or arms. Here Taco is splayed on his back, fists stretching and clenching in ecstatic anticipation of the belly rub the manlover is about to bestow on him. Coddled little creatures.