#busterdots

Somehow, Bustopher Jones managed to squeeze the remainder of his great bulk through the bakery cat flap, popping out the other end like like a cork and sliding ungracefully across the kitchen tile. Grumbling, he shook out his rumpled fur and hauled himself to his paws. He had to wait until the bakery had closed for his visit, but he was woe to have done so; he had wanted to be there to support his beloved Jenny, but he doubted the baker and his wife would have appreciated a second rotund feline making its temporary home in a bustling kitchen. He'd even skipped his usual rounds at the clubs in order to watch the windows of the bakery, entering as soon as the lights had been switched off. Caution be damned. A ripple of nerves passed through Buster. The idea of fatherhood was so foreign to him; for the longest time he hadn't considered himself a family tom, and yet here he stood, a sire to his very first litter. He hoped he was decent enough at the job. The thought of ruining his kittens based on personality alone wasn't very nice, despite all of his wit and banter. "Jenny?" His voice was a low whisper. "Jenny, my love, are you awake?"