Hannah

I don’t know if it was the impossibly blue eyes or her quiet demeanor as she laid her head on his arm, but it is clear my Darling Husband is smitten. No fears, she stole my heart as well when she wove in between and around my legs, and the boys are busy making creations of yarn and string and paper to entice her to spring.

She is small, clearly of Persian lineage, complete with a kink in the very end of her tail. She is also thin, having been lost and found, then “surrendered” to the Humane Society. By the end of our wait with her, she wanted nothing more to do with the shelter volunteer, who was subjected to a nasty scratch when she tried to put Hannah into the carrier. She allowed me to do it, producing a token objection, but inflicting no real damage.

She calmly sat between to the two boys in the back seat as we stopped at Mud Bay on the way home. No, no industrialized mainstream pet food for this kitty, not after my mother’s heartbreaking experience. No, here I was greeted by shelves sagging under bags of food and litter, all screaming “all-natural” at me. The store does not reek of fragrance, and I find it oddly pleasant to smell real smells. I read labels, and determining there is no material difference, choose the kitty food produced closest to home. Ironically, salmon flavored kibble comes from Nebraska. She will have to eat chicken, at least for now.

She is settling in nicely, diligently helping me work by snoozing in the armchair in the corner of my office. Kibble has been dutifully munched on and deposits made in our unscented litter box. And I can’t help but note that she was quite appreciative of the smudge of whipped cream left on my plate from the pumpkin pie last night. Organic, of course.