Decision Day approaches. We are supposed to meet our friend Robin in Sturbridge tomorrow with the Lion, for a "trial separation. She will take him to stay with the many kittens at her shelter while we discover how we feel about Life Without Lion.
I'm not sure if this is a good idea at all. But, in case you couldn't tell, I have trouble making decisions and knowing my own mind. As I get older, I'm getting worse. This morning, during yet another Lion discussion, I pointed out to my husband that I can't even choose between two kinds of oatmeal at the store. And I don't eat oatmeal; I just bake cookies with it. And I know that both kinds work fine. So asking me about a fifth cat is like asking me what I'll be having for lunch on June 23, 2019. No clue.
People sometimes advise to "follow my heart." But I am an anatomical anomaly: I have several hearts, which is better than having none at all. But mine are all giving different directions at once. While some speak in codes and languages I don't understand, others speak English, shouting contradictory opinions together.
I have to give the Lion credit for doing everything in his power for worm his way into this apartment. For example, he somehow borrowed a longhaired coat for his original photos up in Maine, which stole my heart. This is what looked like then:
Who IS this guy? This is not our Lion. Nice job, fella, teaching us not to judge a kitten by his coat.
We spotted Possum and Lion — a shorthaired kitten nowadays — together the other day:
Lion has also managed to fit in seamlessly in our household. Everyone tolerates him, and Toffee considers him a sidekick, or wildlife-observation project, or something.
Later that night, we found all four permanent members of the household curled up together on the bed. Harris had turned on his fog lights, while Toffee was using his low beams. Lion likes to curl up on us, and we love that.
Decisions, decisions. I don't like being kept in suspense, and I don't mean to do that to you, but that's where we are. Still.