A kitten after my own heart.

We have a new muse around here since Mother’s Day. He was this writer’s huge, completely unexpected, big-deal surprise. I’d forgotten how much joy kittens bring, endless chuckles for both adults and a little boy excited to share his toy train expertise, stuffed animals, tiny turtles and tree frogs collection, submarines and pillows with a rapt kitten-audience. At night, Diggory curls up for storytime on my son’s bed, staring at the book as though reading it, then joins me as I write, curling up on my shoulder, surrounded by my hair, purring. Yes, he wakes me up at 2 and 4 and 6a.m. by attacking my toes, scampering the length of my body, or my husband wakes me up with his yelps because Diggory has just clawed his arm, but it’s okay, it’s okay. We’ll sleep again when everyone grows up. I’m pretty much resigned to that. Hooray for the little ones and all the love we can give them. I am so—excuse me—what was I saying? zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz