|With John's hands full, the only thing left with which to pet kitty was his nose. Mmmm, smell-of-kitty.|
|Here's the Cheshire angle, illustrating his extreme limpness (look at those feet!), and the happiest sleeping face I've ever witnessed|
|From there it's only a short trip to John's chest for an evening nap|
I finally scanned these photos to a digital format, and had to share. The last two have been on Koomyn's altar for the last two years, or taped up on my daughter's walls, and I was beginning to fear for their survival. A 15-year-old with a flagrant, broad-strokes kind of artistic expression, doesn't always take into account this mother's extreme sentimentality and propensity to rage when items-of-sentimental-value are painted/drawn on/cut up/bent/or otherwise destroyed. Being proactive seemed the mature thing to do.