My whisker tales 64631

The kitten is under the couch again, tiny paws scraping the hardwood, making that desperate "help me, I'm stuck in a tunnel" noise, and I am sitting on the floor in socks that picked up cat litter granules three hours ago. It's 9:14 p.m., Chicago wind rattling the windows of my Lincoln Park one-bedroom, and I'm still surprising myself at how much time I spend watching a creature that could fit in the palm of my hand. I started this whole thing as a plan. Maine Coon kitte