Going home …

The kittens will be going to their new homes this weekend and I am in denial.

I’m thrilled to know they are going to homes where they will be much cherished, much-loved members of their new families.  But I’m fighting this pit in my stomach when I realise that they’ll be gone.

It will be strange not waking up to the thunder of little paws running up and down the stairs, or returning home to a welcome delegation of purring kittens.  My toes will miss the morning sessions when the kittens pounce on the bed, thinking that my feet are prey hiding under the duvet.  My living room may still recover from their wall-of-death pursuits as they attempt to race round the room WITHOUT touching the floor using bookshelves, curtains, sofas, hubby’s head etc.

Their little wide-open eyes speak to me of a world filled with wonderful things to explore, to taste, to play with, their whiskers tremble with anticipation at everything.  All is new to them, each moment is fresh, and to be lived in the present – that’s the magic of a kitten, and I thank each one for sharing these past weeks with me.

So I pretend that the tears in my eyes are from the litter that has got into them, and console myself with thoughts of being able to have a lie-in every morning next week, not to have to clean and fill 8 litter trays twice a day, to endlessly prepare food to feed their little rotund bellies, not to have to worry if one of them even squeals in play.

My prayer is that they’ll settle in happily and I’ll be innundated with photos of them, kings and queens in their new homes.