Extreme Kitten

Glenwood is an early-morning hell-raiser, knocking over plants, scattering things off tabletops, biting my feet through the blankets, chasing her tennis ball, duking it out with tissue paper, and stalking Timmy (prompting a string of commands from me: Get down! No! Stop that! Glenwood, cut it out!).

By evening, she's a cuddly, purry, soft-soft-soft fur thing. Last night I was reading Franz Wright's God's Silence (his poems ring for me) while she lay on the pillows behind me, breathing warmth.

She also enjoys Mad Men.

And still gets her toys into her water dish. This was her first toy ever, a gift from Dr. Ryan on October 2, and she loves it.

And what is it about cats that they love to help make the bed? Spike always knew where to be so I could put fresh sheets on without having to move her; it was like a dance. Timmy and Riley were the wrinkle police. Glenwood and Timmy take a different approach:

Timmy's not trying to provoke her; he's just being himself. It's just that he can't escape her ...

... except maybe when he climbs into the hamper, which is his quietest place to sleep.

Most of this year - since Riley's diagnosis on June 8 - has been cat-focused. I've lost one, saved another, and tried to preserve still another's alpha position and sanity. I'd like to see my focus shift in 2010, while keeping Timmy and Glenwood happy and healthy. Happy new year.