Wow, it's been a while.

This is Solace totally hating on me in my now-trashed still sorta brand-new house:



This, my dears, is why: Left to Right: Domino, Caesar and Daisy...

Domino: "Dis an intervenshun, lady. You needs a peddycure!!"
Periwinkle is convinced she knows how to operate the PC better than I do.
Guns is suffering from cute-and-cuddly overdose.

I have, through every fault of my own solely through the power of intention, become a cat rescue organization virtually overnight. These cats were born under my shed to a set of feral parents (One of which, yes, was likely Tom, Jr or Scrappin' Tom, as evidenced by the markings of at least two of the kittens.)

There is an additional kitten who is not pictured in this set: Fizgig. More on him later.

SO, Solace and Darius both see precisely no reason for kittens to exist on their plane at all and would like to know where the fuck I get off torturing them with the fuzzy little barsteads. Guns was in turns tolerant, aggravated, determined, fascinated and now totally enamored of all of our new charges. He wants them to find homes FAST because he's all ready become attached to all of them and will miss them sorely. Better to rip that band-aid off sooner rather than later, I suppose.

I plan to place these kitties with an adoption organization at the age of ten weeks. They're seven weeks now, weaned, litter trained and wormed. If they go to adoption through an orgianization, they'll be adopted to the tune of $125 a pop. From me? Free to homes and people whom I can trust and follow-up with to ensure proper care.