The Cuddle Puddle
By Ashley Schausten
I need to show you what I walk past roughly forty times a day.
These four. My cuddle puddle.
They are Gizmo, Dexter, Thomas, and Frankie, and at any given hour you can find all four of them piled on the tippy top of the cat tree, mashed into one big purring heap like they're trying to become a single cat. Left to right it's usually Gizmo, and then there's Dexter — who has developed a modeling career and would like you to admire his "blue steel." The boy knows his angles.
Frankie, bless him, almost always ends up on the bottom of the pile. He's the sweetest soul — he even lets the babies nurse on him, which is... a lot, Frankie. (I am starting to wonder if Frankie is maybe a girl Frankie — hard to tell with them being SO panther-black that you can't really see what the situation is down there. We'll get that sorted at the vet, lol.)
They're all developing so splendidly. It's getting genuinely difficult to remember that they have to be adopted out. I'm trying not to get too attached, but that ship has sailed — it's a moot point already. I am going to be a teary-eyed mess of a woman the day I hand them to their forever homes. I already know it.
But that's the whole point of this. I keep reminding myself. I get to love them for a short while, get them ready, and send them off to all the love their new families are going to pour on them. Every cat and kitten that passes through my arms is loved like they're my own while they're here — and I think it translates to them. At least, I hope it does.
For now, they're all piled up at the top of the tree. I'll leave them to it.
