I'll gnaw on this bone a little longer

My Momichi had three calicos. (That's the right word in this case. Apparently everyone knew but me.) I used to whisper in her ear that she'd have a spotted baby, a striped one, and a plaid one. Just to spite me, she had Many Spots, Several Spots and Couple O'Spots instead.

I'd never seen such tiny kittens! I've never hosted a birth of kittens at my home; so far, only dogs (and a few murderous desires) have been born in them.

This became apparent when I first looked in the basket and immediately concluded that:

1) they were all victim of some brutal genetic flaw that made their bellies three times as big as their heads.
2) they obviously also were some sort of muties, for they had the hairless, pinkish paws of newborn rats (and for a second I counted seven toes on one tiny paw).
3) one of them was dead.

I was very wrong on all accounts. Turns out they don't really need their heads right now so their bellies are bigger for nutrition purposes. Apparently it's also perfectly normal that they're not completely covered in fur and this not necessarily denotes immediate rodent ancestry. And the one I'd taken for dead was just in deep contemplation and extremely pliable under her mom's maneuvering.

Not just your everyday kitty fever: a kitten from Momichi. I'll have to keep pushing mom's switches on that. Too bad I was in such a hurry to forget what it was like to be fifteen.

* * * * *

Bel: Only you can decide what's best for you! No one can help you there!
Me: Hey, I was the one who fell in love with a guy on the internet and who thought that scattering my few resources to the wind, throwing all my life overboard and taking flight like a wild swallow was the best idea.

And incredibly enough, once upon a time I did. Talk about needing help.