She is COVERED in brambles. I think she likes it because the second you get them all out of her fur, she comes back in with literally one gagillion more. No, it’s true, I had to call mathematicians and everything to ask what came after nine-hundred and ninety-nine zazillion as I was counting. So, I’m thinking perhaps Pumpkin was wishful thinking. She’s never come in, not even once, with a pumpkin in her fur.
So, I’m thinking of changing her name to Bramble Ann, which would allow me, with slight modification, to make this her themesong:
My cousin A. was completely taken with the new kitty. “What is she? She’s some kind of wild cat, isn’t she? Look at how big her paws are!” But I remain convinced that she’s a Maine Coon who lacked something vital–like, say, food–at a moment in her life when she could have grown up to be a big cat and now she’s just her size.
But I tell you, this morning, even with Miss Brambly Pants all full of brambles like they’re decorations and her getting all bent out of shape as I tried to pull them out, when she put her forehead against mine, I felt like the world is full of sweet and mysterious things, some of which, even, I don’t miss out on.