philosophy at age eight

“If you cannot control your peanut butter, you cannot expect to control your life.”
~ Judah-ism

Monday, January 24, 2011

my cat's cuter than yours

 Koomyn was always an excessively trusting cat.  As an adult, as illustrated in my previous post, he was always happy to roll over and bare his tummy, either for children playing Doctor, or to writhe around in happiness between Johnny's feet while John talked sweet-nothings, or even to cuddle with Bijou the guinea pig. But all of this was prefaced by Koomyn, the kitten, who would fall asleep in fast-forward the instant John would cup his tininess upside-down in his hands.  Koomyn would just relax-relax-relax until he was a snoring, limp wet noodle of cuteness in John's hands. The process took about 30 seconds.

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

 Yes, John's shirt is inside-out.  Don't get me started.

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.

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