Grey and Black
What is the difference between grey and gray? If only there was an omnipotent internet source I could tap in to while writing this very post.
These may be the only daughters Kris will ever have, we’ll know in a few weeks.
We adopted these sisters of an indeterminate-adult-age about a month ago and oh my . . . love springs maternal. I’ve had pets my whole life and these past eight months without one (Puddin’ Pop, our 19-year-old tabby, died right before we left Bermuda) have been sharper. Like not having rugs in the house, sure the hardwood is beautiful but wouldn’t the whole place feel cozier with a few flokatis tossed around? (I am currently rug shopping.) The cats are balls of love and a daily education in just how different siblings can be. Grey is the extrovert, likes to see and be seen and most remarkably, tolerates Arlo’s screams, pulls, yanks and total disregard of personal space. I don’t think Grey has sat on my lap yet as she is too busy to cuddle. Black on the other hand I only see twice a day — during Arlo’s nap and after he goes to bed for the night. She.is.not.having.it. When she’s not hiding from Arlo however, she is a lovahhhhh. Lap, chest, neck — she wants all up in my business and to stay there until my laptop begins to burn the furthest edge of my kneecaps.
I think there was some worry when we first brought them home – they both hid for a very long time – did we adopt the feline version of basement-dwelling serial killers? Were they too old and too long abandoned to trust again? I just decided that whatever they are, whoever they need to be, I will accept them. If they never come out from behind the log pile in the fireplace, I will provide for them a home, sustenance and a constant availability to affection and then I will let them be who they are. This state of being, this thing called parenthood, has changed me entirely.