A cat wandered to our house a while ago. She was pregnant and tiny. The general consensus was that if she gave birth, both her and offspring would die, but a few weeks later there were little kitten mews coming from below the porch. A week or two after that, Momma Kitty let her kittens explore and play with me. It was noticed that the mother's fur sparkled in the sun, and when she licked my hand, leaving it sparkly, she was named Sparkle Spit. Her little tabby kitten will crawl right up in your lap and bite any wrinkles or creases in your pants. Because of this, she is Captain Spunk. C.P. for short. Captain Spunk's sister is very quiet and timid. She hisses at people a lot, which is odd considering how friendly her sister is. This little one, who is the same creamy orange and white as her mother, is named Spirit. She has a little white streak under each eye, like the ones people put on at ball games with paint.
The little things are adorable. They have short, little tails and are so fluffy. It reminds me of when Insta-Purr and Lil-Bit were that big. Miniature fluff balls of doom. They still leap at one another's throats for fun. I tend to refer to that as playing Gladiator, or, if they're outside and bouncing off trees, playing Hunger Games.
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