I've got a kitten.
Well, I mean he's like 12 years old or something now. But I call him Kitten.
Or Kitteh.
Or Mufasa the Mighty Lion. (He likes that last one)
Sylvester has been his name his whole life. But to me, the name Sylvester represents his old life. I don't know if his old life was sad or bad or happy or comfortable. I don't ever want to take him back there, so I do not refer to him as Sylvester.
He's easy going and easy to please.
Except around feeding time. Then he turns into this obnoxious, yowling monster who will not give it up until his food dish has been set down before him.
I swear he can read clocks, too.
Look at his pretty green eyes.
They remind me of Ireland.
Kitten is 15lbs of orange nonsense. I tell him so every single day.
But I warn you... don't be fooled by his easy going nature or his soft, cuddley look. Underneath that velvety, two faced exterior is a monster. A vampire.
Think of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde.
As soon as your arm is in just the right position....
WHAM!
The lion has sunk his teeth in and you will never escape!
...
...
Oh... well you'll probably be fine. He's just a kitten, remember?
Emily
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