The Squirt

Many of my knitting group pals know Squirt, having had their toes gnawed or their yarn toyed with over the last couple of months. But for those of you who don't know her, Squirt is a tale of compassion and insanity rolled together.

First, I am allergic to cats. So when my youngest daughter rolled in right after the Fourth of July with a tiny white bundle that was nothing more than a head and a belly, I thought she'd lost her mind.
"She has to go!" I said.
"But she was abandoned; she will die if we don't take care of her!" she said.

I'm not unreasonable. The kitty was roughly only a couple of weeks old, and could barely stand much less walk.

"OK, but only until she can be adopted out" I sighed,
driving promptly to HEB for the economy size box of Benadryl.

Here we are, and Squirt is now of adoptable age. She is totally adorable, as you can see from her picture (thanks Alicia!). Since I knit her the toy she is jealously guarding in this picture, I thought I could post it here, which brings me to the point of this post: Are any of you interested in adopting her? She is ready for a permanent home, being at least 9 weeks at this point. She comes with a bag of food, too.

Now, how can you not love that little face? Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Give me a jingle via email (eastskye at gmail dot com) to set up a time to come meet her. I can't keep her any longer: The Benadryl is killing me; I act and feel like a zombie.

Now look again at that sweet face.