The kittens are at the foot of my bed playing with a mouse on a string, taking turns batting and gnawing. They have become quite delightful, fetching toys, wrestling one another, sleeping on heads and tucked under chins, trilling their greetings, and showing off their intelligence to the delight of visitors.
Over the weekend we got our Christmas tree. One far more humble and appropriate than that time the Christmas tree ate our living room. And just at the moment when we collectively stepped back to admire the cone of holiday wonderment, it got all Simon's Cat up in here. Just imagine this x 2.
We averted disaster by a narrow margin, scooping Pippa the kitten out from the branches about halfway up the tree. It seems we weren't the only ones to escape disaster. In the continuing story of Rachel and the looking glass, a new twist:
The glow grew brighter until Rachel had difficulty seeing. She closed her eyes against the glare and when she opened them again the light was normal. Curious she slid off the bed and padded down the spiral staircase.
The oddness of the light told her something different was happening in the outside world. The wall before her went hazy then opaque and finally clear. She could see out into her room!
Running forward she placed her hands onto the glass, felt a tug and was pulled through, landing bodily against her bed.
She had escaped…but how? And where was Seraphina?
Little time for reading but I've just ordered a replacement of our favorite Christmas book, Letters from Father Christmas by J.R.R. Tolkien. We had the cassette version for my children growing up and they remember fondly listening to the cranky North Polar Bear.