Kids and Kitty

The kids were last weekend and they had been gone for a long time, like three weeks or something. They both ran and chased me and I chased them and hissed, I hissed a lot. When I hissed, the Baby cried and the Boy laughed. The woman would say, Kitty, don’t hiss at the Baby, you hurt her feelings. Well, funny how when the kids are here, I am not the baby but Kitty and the bigger I get, and the Baby is getting bigger too, the more I get fussed at. Plus, the Baby sits in the woman’s lap all the time and I cannot get there and so I hide beside the chair and swat at the woman’s arm until she looks down and I meow all pitiful. So, at night when they all go to sleep, I curl up on the woman and if she turns over, I find a new place on her to curl. When the kids went back to their house, I got in the woman’s lap and did not budge and she scratched my chin, and rubbed my back, and I even let wash my face with a damp cloth—something I really hate. This week, the big boy is coming. His feet stink and he eats all the time. The woman said he is hitting puberty and we need to give him room. Room for what?

Oh, and I forgot, I've been hanging out on the screened back porch and there's a feral kitty who comes over and puts her nose on the screen. The woman is feeding her. I want to play with this little kitty and be friends, but the woman says she is wild and if we do catch her and keep her, she has to go to the vet and get shots and flead and wormed and all of that. I hope I see her today.