The baby is never far from the old one.
In town the other day I was buying a flea and tick collar for the big mutt Casper and decided to get treats for the hounds: a large one for the large one, and a wee one for the wee one. Here they are giving the rawhide bones a gnaw. Doesn't Casper look happy? She's smiling.
None of the tick repellants can be used on a pup that is under three months old, and Chloe is only about 10 weeks, so there was nothing for her and instead I am pulling ticks off with my bare fingertips every day. It is so frigging gross, especially when they're already swollen with blood. But it must be done. The little sweetheart just sits there and lets me do it; she appears to need all the attention and cuddles she can get, as neither Casper nor the cats are letting her snuggle up or play with them. They're still growling and snapping or swiping at her face when she gets too close.
Each day I take my freshly brewed coffee outside to the front step right after doing my Tibetan Rites in the living room. "Good morning, my girls! How's it going?" They mount the steps to be petted and have their ears scratched, and little Chloe puts her head on my lap. She wants to chew my sweater sleeves and bite my fingers with her razor-sharp baby teeth, but is quickly learning what "no" means.
Sometimes the three cats are there, also desiring some human affection, and I am sorely lacking enough hands to satisfy them all. The two year-old kittens have a bad habit of jumping up and digging their claws in; they're learning not to, though. I hope. In the meantime they seem to be excited about all the long grass to hunt in; I've seen two of them eating mice. Ralph, Grandma's big black half-Himalayan that has been with us for three years, has been a bit more scarce. Unfortunately he is a bird-hunting cat that is quite successful, even without front claws.
*** I've always been bored when people ramble on about their pets too often. Now I'm one of those people, eh?