don’t want writing to be a hoarding of memories, a desperate and tedious grasp for passing time. i want words to add richness and textures to my days. a filtering of thought. a distillation of experience. so my hours don’t disappear in a half-conscious haze.

Kitten suddenly seems grown up, a little more mellow, a little sweeter, a little better at caring for others. he’s a good snuggler… sleeps on my chest, rolling about, rubbing his forehead against me, stretching his paws against my chin, not caring where he ends and i begin.

a couple of weeks ago, White Kitty got on the bed by himself, using his stepping stool and a little prompting from M. i thought to myself, remember this. White Kitty walked onto the bed by himself today.

he has been so weak all summer. lying under the clothes drying rack “tent” most of the day, wide-eyed and ill at ease. requiring regular coaxing for trips to the litterbox. there is a big list in my head of things White Kitty doesn’t do anymore, and his walking onto the bed was a significant triumph to cling to.

but right now, at this moment, he is sleeping soundly on the bed with Kitten to one side and M to the other. he was the first to bed tonight, climbed right in with no one else about the room. a little later Kitten added himself to the scene, and we found them curled up together, Kitten’s face buried in White Kitty’s side. that’s after sleepy mornings and evenings in bed with us yesterday and today. he slept soundly enough this morning to twitch, soundly enough this evening to growl in dreaming (hope he caught something good). we are having a couple of really good kitty days.

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