The Kitten From Paris

We found a kitten in Paris. Paris, TX, that is. In a moment of particular foolhardiness we pulled out and followed our lead to Paris, where a woman with three kittens lived in a small house we spent a good deal of time trying to find with an internet map on Lauren's computer. She and Gracie had sisterly disputes about the four points of the compass for a while as I stared out the window enjoying the scenic route through downtown Paris, which contained a lot of run-down buildings that seemed to have potential to look vintage, although I am still not sure what vintage looks like. Exactly.

We found the house by accident, after accidentally losing the map, and we knew it was the right house because a small curly headed, brown-eyed boy was standing behind the screen door, holding a resigned black kitten upside down in his chubby hands.

There were two additional more or less resigned kittens in a cardboard box begging in kitten eye language for us to rescue them from certain imminent death. So we promptly did. I commandeered the fuzzy black thing and he rode in my lap all the way home. Except for the time he spent burrowing against the seat behind my neck. He was silent as a shadow all the way home, never once mewing or showing any sign of purring. He didn't shake or tremble, just gazed imploringly up at me with round, blue-green eyes.

After all the deliberation of the morning, Gracie settled on Puddleglum, as the orange kitten's name (due to his melancholy propensity to complain) and Bagheera for the new kitten, because of his panther-like coloring. He is not the sleek stereotypical panther, having a bit of a wormy paunch, but he will most likely grow into it...