Right now I am typing with a kitten curled up on my lap, purring and occasionally raising its head to bat at the keyboard. The Boy brought him home the other day: by which I mean I rang my mum to see if I could borrow the car, she said, “I’m just in your area! I’ll give you a lift!”, and so the Boy, my mum, my eighty-five-year-old grandmother and I all drove to Richmond to collect this adorable ball of fluff.
But it was the Boy’s initiative. And, I’m glad he took it. Although the kitten seems to climb everything, including people, he is delightful company and very good to play with and look after. We were originally going to call him Moriarty, after this fellow, and because Morrie is a good St Kilda cat name, but everyone we told said, “Oh, like that guy” and as is well documented, I won’t have a bar of it.
So the kitten became a Henry, and in my head Henry is always Henry Sugar, and though the cat has not yet appeared to be psychic in any way, Henry Sugar he remains. And oh, he is so cute and climby. Makes the many, many words I have yet to write a little more bearable when I’ve got a kitten curling up around my neck to fall asleep.
2 Comments
June 14, 2009 at 7:03 pm
And Sherlock Holmes’ nemesis? This guy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Professor_Moriarty
Is he the ‘Napoleon of cats’?
June 25, 2009 at 9:30 pm
He is the ’squirmy, climby, hide-in-your-shopping-basket nutcase’ of cats. We’re raising a neurotic!