I would like it noted that I’m meant to be doing things. Instead, I’m brokering cat peace and conducting a real-time study into how to slice my love multiple ways and not have it diminish. Because apparently, we now have two interlopers, both of whom think they’re moving in. Although Lily doesn’t like the other one, who has the audacity to be *gasp* a boy. It turns out that she’s quite spicy, which I find funny, fluffball that she is. Perkin and Posie, on the other hand? Still the sweetest bunnies (technically cats but also frequently referred to as chickens 🐓) in the whole wide world, but definitely not amused.
Also, who on earth let out that kitten on Friday morning? They’re meant to be kept in when they’re that young. Seriously, you’re giving me anxiety. And admittedly, it did cross the road with me (while my internal monologue ran through a whole carousel of “Do not fucking run this kitten over”—as stopping traffic is something I do periodically and I, too, can be spicy) but I spent all day thinking: “What if it needs to cross back?” See, anxiety. The universe should know this. Geese, swans, ducks, cats, [insert any feathered, furry or otherwise transient creature that I will unscientifically also call a 🐻]—it really doesn't matter. This is how it always goes.
