Like parents throughout history, we tried to round everyone up for a family photo, a proposal that was met with varying degrees of enthusiasm. "I have to go," said one of the tabbies, who remains unnamed because we still can't tell the four of them apart. Finally we managed to get all six. More or less. "Welcome to my world," said Clio, watching with her characteristic combination of wonder, patience, and slight dismay. As always, though, she remained very sweet and never once lost her temper with her six children, even when they bit her tail. On a more practical level, lots of progress was made this week: the kittens all started eating food and using the litter box. There were a few accidents (not pictured), but by the end of the week, they seemed to be very consistent, which is pretty amazing if you think about what you were doing at the age of six weeks. We tried to impress upon the kittens the importance of planning for the future: saving for college, opening up 401(k)s, and so forth, but they were more interested in squandering their youth by hiding in boxes and chasing after toy mice. They spent a lot of time running around and jumping on each other. "How does this help your retirement picture?" I asked and tried to extol the benefit of compounding interest. "It really makes a difference if you start early," I emphasized. "But I'm just a tiny lil kitten," said one of the unnamed tabbies. "We can worry about it later," said another one (Orestes, the black and white one) before dropping off to sleep. I went to Pittsburgh for a few days, where the campions were in bloom. I told my father about the difficulties in raising kittens. "Don't worry about it," he said. "You completely ignored us, too, and you turned out okay." "Have no fear, little ones," said Elektra, "because I will protect you all."
If you or anyone you know would like to adopt one (or ideally two) of the kittens, please let me know! Prospective adopters are now welcome to visit, since the kittens are old enough and happy to be held.