Jupiter

Margo called me on Friday morning. She and Sarah were thinking of looking at kittens. Taken at face value, a statement like this admits the possibility that a kitten might not make its way into our house by the end of the day. But I knew better, and of course, when I got home, there was.

Me, I'm ambivalent about cats. Sure, they're cute and all. But I imagine: new carpeting smelling of cat wee. New hardwoods scratched by kitty claws. White furniture scratched to shreds and covered in cat fur. Think The Cat Came Back.

But Margo and Sarah have done their homework. Margo's had Sarah reading a book about taking care of cats. Sarah is now the cat's primary caretaker. 

Sarah named him Jupiter. Not for the planet, but for the god. She's been reading lots of Rick Riordan and such lately, where Graeco-Roman gods are brought into the modern world. Kids eat that stuff up.

So Jupiter has been living in Sarah's room, leaving only as a passenger in Sarah's arms. Yesterday morning he joined us at breakfast so I got some first pictures.

Sarah says he's ten weeks old, something like an eight month old human baby. Margo and I are having lots of schadenfreude as Sarah is woken up in the middle of the night and otherwise having less freedom and more responsibility. We thought we'd have to wait until we were grandparents to get a taste of revenge.

Yesterday Sarah said to me, "You know, I can kind of understand how annoying I must have been when I was smaller. I'm not apologizing, though."