Poema by Anne

Sappy fact of the day:
The kitten kisses my nose before he falls asleep. He gingerly steps onto my chest, presses his nose in the crevice between my nose and lips, then curls up with his fuzzy blankets and dozes off. He's done this the last two nights in a row: a good night kiss for the hand that feeds him.
If only he were this sweet all the time.
I have my battle wounds from this little beast, particularly when he switches off into "I'm roaming the African plains in search of my next meal" mode. In his imagination, I'm sure he is ceremoniously dragging an antelope into his den, where he can ravage his dinner for the whole pride to see and feast. But in reality, Cat prances proudly in the living room, red octopus toy hanging out of his mouth, red octopus toy swinging side to side, red octopus toy clawed and beaten into a bedraggled state, red octopus is now missing the pom pom that once decorated his head.

He is quite the robust toddler-cat.