Kittens in the Kitchen

By: 1000th Ghost

There are kittens in the kitchen.

I'm pretty sure that's a title of some book I read when I was little.

Well, anyway, there are currently...four kittens in the kitchen. Nope, make that three, Melody just scooped one up and took it someplace else.

The kittens are all gray and of varying degrees of plushness. One is a big poof, one is sleek, and one I can't really tell because it fell in the dirty dishwater in the sink and is standing on the counter looking miserable and sopping. Poofy Kitten is asleep on a loaf of bread, all curled up with her (I'm guessing it's a her; I never checked) head tucked under her so she appears to be nothing put a gray, fluffy ball. I don't know why she chose the bread, it's stale, and there is a perfectly fine apron someone threw in the corner that I should think would be more comfortable. To each her (or his) own.

Come to think of it, since I'm looking at it, I should put that apron away. I pick it up, and there is a bird underneath. It is dead and bloody, and now the apron's "Kiss Me, I'm Irish" has a lovely splash of red over the green. Merry Christmas.

I'm the Irish one - the red hair is a dead giveaway. Alan gave me the apron, I guess hoping he'd get lucky. (it worked)

I never name kittens because they rotate almost constantly. Melody collects them, plays with them, and then they escape, or Valerie takes them to an animal shelter. I don't think Melody ever notices.

Sleek Kitten is pawing at my leg. He/she is bigger than the others, so I'm guessing he's the one who caught the bird. He wants a reward, and he's so cute, I can't deny him one. There's a container of leftover Chinese on the counter (and, let me tell you, it's a miracle that there's only one container of leftover Chinese on the counter), and I fish him out a piece of beef.