Happy Halloween!

Death is not an option?

I submit the following Radio Choices for your consideration. Assume that the other presets were playing commercials, because they were.

Station 1: "Tears In Heaven" - Eric Clapton
Station 2: "All My Love" - Led Zeppelin

And, go.

And Penny you know.

Millimeter by millimeter, we're getting there.







Penny loves her babies.

I mean. You know. Most of the time.

Meet Bowie!

Bowie is the baby.

I don't play favorites, but I'm telling you upfront so there's no snags later: You can't have Bowie.

Bowie is physically incapable of doing anything that is not adorable. She stands against your legs, and then hugs them. She pets her brother. Pets him.

She is easy-going. Nay, she is unflappable. Once, I accidentally dropped a metal bowl in front of her, and she watched it bounce and clang and come to a halt, then beamed up at me. She's a follower. Whatever you want to do is okay by her!

She loves her brother Henry the most, because he is the funnest. She really really wants to play with the boys, but she is only a fourth of their collective size. Whenever everybody is running around crazy, she checks in with Mommy to make sure she's okay.

Bowie's favorite toy is ribbon. RIBBON.

Meet Samantha!

Samantha is number Four.

Sammi was the first baby to open her eyes. As she stared calmly at the rest, blindly squiggling around, she knew someone needed to be in charge of this crew, and it had to be her. That's why she looks so serious; she has a lot of responsibility.

She's not a baby. Never has been. She always eats when everyone else is finished, because she doesn't like eating with the babies. She doesn't like playing with them, either, most of the time. Unless it's to wrestle the boys. She's a tomboy like that.

She's also very girly. She does not like gross things. She will look at you pleadingly until you make the gross go away. Being praised makes her feel special. You never have to tell her something twice.

Half her face is 90% eyes.

Samantha's favorite toy is anything she can chew on.

Meet Jillian!

Jillian is your quintessential middle child.

Jillian is not an ordinary cat, because Jillian can talk!! Unfortunately, she can only say one word, and that word is "no." Before we knew that the twins were a boy and a girl, the easiest way to tell them apart was to pick one of them up. If the kitten seemed relatively relaxed, it was Jack. If it started squealing "Nu! Nu!!! Nuuuuuu!!!" it was Jillian. Or as she was simply known then, "The Whiner."

We usually call her Pillian.

Jillian doesn't want you to touch her. We're not sure where things went wrong. It may have been that time when they were very little and she managed to crawl away from the heap, to a dusty corner where she cried for possibly up to an hour before I came and found her. Her mother, I should note, showed no indications of going to get her. 4 out of 5 is still a B, I guess.

There's one thing that Jillian loves more than anything, and that's Jack. It's a good thing that Jack likes her too, otherwise she would be his stalker. She's always trying to get him away from the other kittens to play with her alone. She hides and watches when he uses the litter. She has boundary issues.

When she's not busy being a total weirdo, she can be pretty adorable. She plays with her toys not by batting them, but by pushing them along the floor like a kid with a diecast car. Plus, she easily provides "Hey, there's two of them!" photo ops.

Jillian's favorite toys are the puffy balls.

Meet Henry!

Henry was born second.

This information is irrelevant, because Henry is first in life. And while I don't feel qualified to permanently settle the nature/nuture debate that has intrigued Man for generations, I will tell you this: Henry was born that way. You could tell the way he slap-fought his brother over milk before his eyes had even opened.

He also liked to push heads and hog water and generally commandeer every new experience. This did not make him popular. But then, Henry discovered that he was a Lion. And part of what lions do is protect everybody. That's why he's the first to investigate every scary noise and count heads afterward. Lions also don't cover their business. Someone will get that.

Henry is even bigger than his brother. He has huge paws and jackrabbit feet. He still looks unfinished, like the gangly and awkward teenage boy he is. He likes to chase Jack around so they can do Man Things together.

While this all keeps him very busy, he will always, always take time out for hugging and cuddling. There's nothing more important.

Henry's favorite toy is water.

Meet Jack!

Jack is the eldest.

He weighs 11 pounds. He's broad and stocky. He doesn't realize any of this, and thinks he is still a tiny baby, so he crashes into things a lot. He's a total marshmallow and a sweet, well-behaved little boy. ... At least when he's not hanging out with his brother.

He's scared of a lot of things, but not vacuum cleaners. He is very shiny because he takes grooming very seriously. When he uses the litter, more or less all of it winds up in a mountain covering his business. He does not like stinky things. He is conscientious.

He loves his mommy, and is usually found with his twin sister following a few feet behind. But he really loves the moments he can get alone with people.

Jack's favorite toy is the scratching board.

Remember that time I had six cats?

Here's the thing ... I have six cats.

You may recall, back in the days when I occasionally used my blog, when I told you about this cat I took in that wound up multiplying. You may also recall that I said I wasn't going to keep all of them.

I am untrustworthy.

It's not that I didn't try. I tried very, very hard. But you can scarcely imagine how undesirable adorable tiny fluffy kittens are until you're trying to get people to take them. Of course, let's be clear. I'm not a complete incompetent. If my only concern were getting the kittens out of the house, I'm sure I could have done that. My real concern, though, was with finding them homes. Good homes with decent people where I wouldn't have to worry about what fate I'd consigned my babies to. That particular quest was full of many misadventures. One person only wanted kittens that were 5 weeks old. (Why?) One applicant wanted a cat with a predictable personality. (She wanted a dog.) Two sets of neighbors took kittens home and brought them back within a week. (And one set hasn't been seen since.) Then there was the charming if batty French lady my sister's mother-in-law knows from church. She is a lover, and collector, of animals, and swore that she had a good friend who was in want of kittens. Three months later the conversation was veering off in directions like, "Well, I met this couple in the bagel shop, and they seemed pretty nice. They were there putting up a missing poster for the second cat they've lost this year. Want to give your kittens to them?" I've stopped calling her.

So I have six cats. I guess haven't completely abandoned hope of homes. I'm still crossing my fingers on my Auntie Pat, who gushes about how gorgeous one of the kittens is and how much she wants her, but won't take her for reasons it would take a map to get to. Plus, I mean, would you like a cat or two, Internet? It's cool, I trust you.

But anyway. I figured I should tell you about my cats. The first step is admitting you have a problem. My next trick will be devoting an entry a day to introducing the little darlings. Then you'll know everything there is to know about the last six months of my life. And then? Who knows, my friends. Who knows.

Watch this space!

P.S. I also have a Secret Exciting Cat Project that I've probably already told you about. Full disclosure if it turns out not to be an epic failure.