On Being Chosen

A few weeks ago we had a momentously exciting moment in our house... the arrival of The Kittens. It was very exciting. I wasn't actually here to witness the event, having snuck off for a rare weekend away with DPB [insert hearts here].


Aaaaanyway, to cut a long story short, I was given pick of the litter and decided that I would like a girl cat. Please. So, we waited a few weeks and the kittens were sexed and... two girls, two boys. I fell in love with the beautiful, stripy girl, named her Dusty (after the fabulous Ms Springfield), and told DPB to expect a life full of gorgeous, striped, purr-y fun.

Little Miss Dusty

Except, that's not quite how things have turned out.


Hmm.


You see, how do I explain this? Dusty doesn't like me. Doesn't like anyone really (phew). She doesn't like playing, prefers to keep herself to herself and, generally, just walks off in the opposite direction if you go up to her.


OOPS.


But then there was this wee scrap of a thing. Otherwise known as the runt. But I think it's a little rude to be calling kittens names. Ok?


Every time I went to visit the kittens he would trot out and see me, or crawl into my lap and stare up at me with his big blue eyes (actually, small eyes, but big in comparison to his body). Aha.

The kittens: Scoop, Dusty, Tatty and (blurred in the background) Billy.

Then there was the day when I went in to see the kittens and he curled up in a tiny ball in my hand and fell asleep. In my HAND. Disney couldn't write this better.


Yes, my friends, I had been chosen.


So without further ado, let me introduce to you the latest addition to the Transition family:
Scoop (because he's so tiny you can just scoop him up with one hand. Oh yep, he's a cutie).