It's a survival thing

I know why God makes babies small and cute. It's so you don't hurt them. You see them and just want to talk baby talk and feed them a small morsel of something.

Oh, I don't mean my kids.

Only JD is still at that cute stage, and he is hardly a bother.

I mean my new kittens, Fred and Barney.

Tater had asked Santa for a boy cat that is good. He specified a good cat, because Lucy the Wonder Beagle had to be relocated to my Grams house. Hubby had finally lost it after she pooped in her bed after just coming back into the house. Again. Fortunately my Grams is in hog heaven having a dog again, cooking her special food and doting on her to no end. Lucy is getting quite plump.

After grieving for my George and Buddy, I finally broke down. We got the two kittens. They are all ears and tail and energy.

Oh, and fleas. I found a flea on Barney and treated them both. Yes, finding a pile of dead fleas on my pillow, where they were sleeping, was a real treat.

I am keeping their litterbox conveniently located in the kitchen until I am sure they can find it in the basement. I caught Fred trying to dig to China.

There is litter on the floor, in their food, in their water.

But they are so damn cute you can't get upset.

How I missed having kitties sleep in my lap! I love it when they curl up together and make a little furry yingyang.

They are good with the kids, and vice versa. There is no tail pulling or scratching.

As much as my husband misses his childhood dog, I suspect that he was never really responsible for any of the work. He was once "allergic" to cats. Now he is a bonafide cat person. He wasn't keen on all the work that came with Lucy (though her frequent baths due to rolling in chicken manure were no picnic, and he only did that twice).

The house feels right with cats in it once again. The nights alone don't seem quite as bad when I watch tv with my furry brethren purring in my lap.

Even if they do like to take their turds from litter box and bat them around the kitchen.