Black Cats

It’s now a couple of weeks since we said goodbye to Sam, and whispered conversations have begun to gather pace around the house – wondering if George, the remaining brother, might be lonely – and wondering if we might start looking for some company for him.

The conversations turned into telephone calls late last week, and then my other half and our eldest daughter quietly slipped out of the house yesterday afternoon on a somewhat secret mission.

It transpires there are two black kittens being cared for by a foster carer. The secret mission returned with serious sounding conversations about “if we take them”. I think this was really an elaborate “make it sound like we haven’t made our mind up yet” exercise. My other half told me all about them late last night – after the children had gone to bed. I haven’t seen her sound so happy in quite some time.

And yes, I’m excited too. Two black kittens – both jet black. A little boy, and a little girl. Apparently black cats are more difficult to re-home – I was surprised to learn this – if I had known this in advance, I would have chosen them specifically for that reason – in reality, they were almost the first rescued cats we looked at.

All manner of adventures await.

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