One of my coworkers has a snake infestation in her yard. And not just any snake: spitting cobras. They’ve killed five of them so far, fortunately with no injuries. My yard has also been invaded by wildlife recently, with one tiny difference. Instead of snakes, I have an infestation of kittens.
Yes, kittens. Four of them, clearly the offspring of grey-striped Mom and black-and-white-splotched Dad, who Jabberwocky likes to howl at through the screen door when he gets too close to the house. They have completely taken over my yard – licking each other, rough-and-tumble roly-poly fighting, playing hide-and-seek in the bushes, pouncing each others’ tails, and generally being adorable. I haven’t been able to get close enough for good photography without breaking up the party, but trust me, they’re super cute. [EDIT 5/5: now with photographic goodness!]
Watching them gambol and frolic and cavort and feeling my heart melt into a puddle of ooze under such an irresistible onslaught of cute, I can’t help but think that I am betraying my Jabberwock. I mean, I’m not going to do anything about it. I won’t feed them; that introduces a whole new layer of responsibility I don’t want, especially given that I’m leaving in six weeks. I won’t play with them. I’ll certainly never scoop them up and nuzzle them. Even though I really want to. Especially the dark striped one, he’s my favorite. But I’m just looking! And that’s okay, right? Right?