Of the cat.
The little cat.
The little, tiny, baby cat that found his way into our garage tonight.
The little, tiny, baby cat that Hunter immediately named "Little Jag." (To her credit, he looks JUST like Jag did when he was a kitten.) In fact, he looks exactly like this:
The minute I saw him prancing around the garage, I got that 'oh crap' feeling...because I KNEW she'd adore just seeing him in all his tininess, yet I also knew she'd want to keep him. (And I also knew Brian would leave me forever if I so much as uttered any sort of phrase beginning with, "But he's so cute honey.")
So I let her play with him for a few minutes....and it took only that long before she started, in her most sympathetic voice, "He's so cute mommy. He lives at his friend's house. Does he, mommy? I think he doesn't have a home.' And then it hit me- SHE IS ME.
She and Colton played with the kitty for a few minutes...calling out "Come here Little Jag!", "Come here kitty!"
And then Brian came out....and that's about where the story ends. She may think her Daddy walks on water most days, but at this moment, she definitely did not. He came out grumbling something about "a pest" and how he wasn't staying here and proceeded to shut the garage, leaving 'Little Jag'...well, alone.
It was evident in mere seconds how crushed she was. Her little face wrinkled up and tears started flowing. She was painfully aware that he was out there 'without his mommy' she kept saying. She was so worried about this little kitty. (Which by the way, Brian tells us does live in the neighborhood. I think he may be lying but if he is, I prefer not to know.
Oh, Little Ami. This is not going to be the last animal you want to 'save'. There will be oodles. I love that you have a good heart at 3 and a half years old.