Yesterday, Luke and I went on a kitten quest. Since he's near impossible to get out of bed before 11 on a weekend I didn't like our chances of getting a look in at the Cat Protection Society (or the Cat!Prot!Soc! as he keeps faux-rapping) with its 11am opening on a Saturday. I was right. We rocked up about 11:45 and there were swarms of people vying for the four kittens available (it's early in the season). I snuggled a little silver tabby boy and politely passed him to a young girl who had a desperate, wild look in her eyes. It was like a cattle call - how can you spend time with and assess a cat's personality when you've got half a dozen people behind you each wanting a chance. It's no good.

I sought out a local vet who operates as an accredited Cat Adoption Centre and we drove over to visit with three little ladies they had up for adoption. So pretty. So sweet. I fell in love with a wee fuzzball poppet but Luke... He wasn't so charmed and felt nervous about making a choice on the first day we actually got to hang with any cats. He doesn't understand about my refined sense of intuition and that this little angel spoke to my soul. And as a parting gesture she placed her wee paw on the glass as we left...

So apparently we're going to try to visit CatProtSoc during the week if they have any kitties come in. Avoid the hordes.

But don't think I didn't mope, and wail, and sob in defence of my intuitive connection with little Milly as the vet has called her (some of you will recognise the relevance of this bizarre coincidence in naming). And I might yet win out and collect her tomorrow morning... OscarKitty needs a sibling!