Motherhood

The boys downstairs have adopted. It's a girl. An abandonned one-year old, they picked her out from the Humane Association of Connecticut. The cat is gray with white paws, a white Shakespearian ruff tucked under her chin, and a white curve streaking down into her little black nose. She's winsome. Nuzzling her head into your hand, she purs as loud and consistently as a car. Almost as cute as the cat are the maternal instincts of three eight-nineteen year old boys. First we went to Petco where everything for a pampered cat was purchased from the Classy Cat covered bed to a black tie collar to toy mice. Cat nip was vetoed. No drugs for their baby. They thought of everything and were concerned that this brush might be too rough for her fur or she wouldn't take to that new cat food. The final touch was an engraved tag. Kiddo. This sweet cat soul formerly known as Mittens has been renamed after Kill Bill's Deadly Viper Squad Member Beatrix Kiddo bent on bloody revenge.

Yesterday, they'd gone to the Humane Society in Bethany and picked out Mittens then a new name for her. I went with today to pick up Kiddo. On the way back at every stop light, every eye in the car was focused on the cat carrier. Goofy grins spread across their faces. They cooed and proved why it's good to have more than one parent: poor ideas will be vetoed by one of the three dads and the child will get lots of love and attention. Arriving back at Yale, cat carrier, litter box, and cat bed were brought in broad daylight through the jog walk, past stares, into the front gate of Stiles, and up to the dorm room where Kiddo carefully lodged herself under the bunk beds. A route past the Master's house was carefully avoided. Not sure about the Dean but I've been won over to keeping a cat in that dorm room formerly jungle of tangled wires sprouting opened food boxes and leaves of books. They even cleaned the suite for their new charge. But don't even think it. This does not mean Pony and Calico can come live with me.