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| If that face doesn't scream JOHNSONS, then my name ain't Jebediah Hucklesmith. |
We've been going through a transition period, and it's always tough on the kid in the house. Poor Rose has been a bit bored lately. Then, the other day, we are cleaning out the garage, and Kip, Rose, and I are out front in our driveway. The neighbor's dogs start going crazy. Crazier even than normal. Freaking out. So I go to check, and even Kip is on edge; he's almost pointing like a hunting dog at the fence.
There, on top, with Kip inches in front, and a snapping and yipping pair of dogs inches behind, is a teeny little gray kitty. He teeters for a bit, and then falls right onto Kip's front feet. Kip looked at me like, "WTF do I do now?"
I ran up and grabbed him. We took him in. We still had food left from Pele, and he seemed hungry, so we fed him. He ate and ate and ate.
We tried to let him back out, but he was having none of it. So we asked around town, and nobody knows anything. Here we are a few days later, stuck with a delightful little counter top raider.
Rose named him. Here he is. Drum roll please. . . . . SOFTBALL JOHNSON:
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| These guys have been getting along great. He came at a perfect time; Kip had been developing an unhealthy curiosity about cats. |
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| I've even seen Softball go visit Kip lately. And sometimes they sleep together. Too cute. |
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| Beaver Creek area. Tons of deer. And nothing else. |
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| Absarokee at Dusk. Seen from Beaver Creek hill. |
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| Sunrise from our front yard Rose Garden. It's true: God's a Broncos fan. |