Friday, November 30, 2012


(Margot about to board a plane for here, yesterday)

Doing the Margot tango. She fills this house. It's never been better.

She just interrupted me to model the new butch skivvies. Aneurysm-inducing attractive.

The kittehs are in heaven, esp Dinah. We all had a full night's sleep, rare for either of us. Fresh Tiptree's on my toast this morning, cuppa chai in Ian's mug, talking menus, marveling at her colourful turns of speech and multilingual vocabulary.

We did some serious possum-watching during the evening; I think it was Plum who showed up. Margot eventually ventured outside slowly and got some fantastic photos, will post later. He watched her warily, less than a meter away, but did not bolt. He was feasting on the trimmings from our evening fruit salad, including mango.

We had one terrifying mishap earlier. It was the time of night when kittehs are given one last meal, and I realized I'd not seen baby Ianto in a while. Margot's memory was indefinite as mine: Had we seen him since the front door had opened and closed? We could not be sure, and he was nowhere to be found. He did not appear for our increasingly frantic calls, either, though Scout raced around reminding us SHE was available. Eventually M put on trou, grabbed a flash and went out into the dark where I heard her strained calls diminishing in the distance. I was sick inside.

I don't know why, but I glanced over at M's bathrob draped over her pillow from earlier, and I reached out to move it. He popped out, a tiny blob of fluff, and blinked at me as if to say "Oh, were you calling me?" I managed to scream loud enough for M to hear and she rushed back. He swiveled his adorable tiny face toward her as she entered, and she burst into tears, scooping him up and weeping onto him "Oh and we keep saying we're giving you away, and I was so worried you'd felt unloved because we focus so much more on the girls!" He wriggled free, alarmed, and she finished her sobbing in my arms.

We cannot keep him, I really cannot handle it. But we must find him a worthy home and bring him up well until then. He does not have the disposition to be a diva like Scout. He is well-mannered and loves to be loved and is beautiful, that is his path in this world. This morning I began the three-day process of worming him. He ran from me afterward, but only briefly, returning in two minutes for reassurance and to nap on my thigh.

Margot is now arranging her clothing, reclaiming drawers and hangers. My heart exults.

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