Moe moe moe

I mentioned the skein of personal victories this weekend… my beloved Cubs won two home games going away, the Scott Thomas poetry collection happened, and lastly, a smol cat boy entered my life.

His name, for now, is Moe. He is about ten weeks old, a sturdy and athletic and curious and lovable black kitten. He’s been here about a day and a half and he and I are firmly bonded. He’s sleeping on my hip right now.

Moe, by Elizabeth Bailey

Sweet little guy. The grown cats hiss and occasionally slap, and he goes about his business. They’ll stop eventually… mean kitty Shadow doesn’t bother him as much as the guys do. That girl’s a born hunter.
He purrs loudly and easily, is easily able to jump up on tables and chairs, is fully box-trained, and loves to curl up in my belly when it’s time to sleep.


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