Writing... or Typing?

Milo had his first rabies shot on Friday, so spent yesterday feeling low.  He didn’t want to be held, didn’t want to be on laps, didn’t want to eat very much.  He seemed to feel like he had flu – occasional feints at normal activity, followed swiftly by relapses into glassy-eyed apathy.

He’s much better now.  He’s been racing around and bouncing off the furniture since early this morning.  He’s now curled up on John’s lap, purring like a steam engine.  This photo was taken earlier this week, but it’s pretty perfect in its representation of his current state:

Ratty – would you care to dance?

Pssst.  Can we talk?

You know my human mommy has been running for about two months, right?  Well, she says she’s not in training for anything, but she is going to be doing the 2007 AIDS Walk in Washington.  She’s getting pretty close to her fundraising goal, but she’s not quite there yet (and if I know her, she probably wants to exceed that goal, not just meet it).

So here’s the deal: if you can, would you support her on her walk (she’s walking so she can do this with friends who don’t run)?  I understand if you can’t (kittens don’t have a lot of disposable income either).  If you do donate to support her, I would be perfectly willing to make you laugh by lolling in your lap:

Or I could jump on your back and lick your head:

Whatever works.  We’re all in this together, right?

Thanks.

— Milo

Milo has entered The Age of Teeth.

Anyone who has raised a kitten knows that there is a time when everything – a challenge, a caress, the coffee table – is approached with tiny fangs bared. The fur of Dash’s tail probably hides a hundred battle scars by now, souvenirs of a tiny tiger flinging himself bodily at his three times larger foe and letting loose the baby teeth of war. Taming The Bite is a key part of kitten raising in my book – little teeth are eventually shed in favor of big teeth, and as much as I don’t want to get bitten by little teeth, I want to get mauled by big teeth even less.

Luckily, Milo is far from the most vociferous of the kittens I have raised (that honor went to Sebastian, my only other orange kitty – in all other respects my gold standard cat, but in the matter of Little Teeth – well, he used to get “time out,” papoosed for long minutes in a blanket or towel until he calmed down sufficiently to re-enter society without perforating it). However, the blissful repose of stroking a tiny, warm, purring body is often broken by the sting of tiny needles on fingers or arm.

We shall persevere, though – Milo is a wonderful addition to our household (no matter what the folks who think we’re daft to have three cats and a dog may say). And Dash really seems fond of him, even when he’s zooming sideways around the living room, only stopping long enough to fling himself bodily at the grey big brother.