Cat Pause

On the verge of despair over the presently unfolding political catastrophe of the Debt Ceiling games, I'm focusing on my new kitten. I brought him home because of his poly-dactylism (paws with more than the usual number of toes) but have also discovered his charming personality. I knew I'd like him. To play with a kitten doesn't mean I'm no longer a Feminist, Marxist, Cultural Socialist, it just means I'm going to give it a rest.

The little cat was here in the store on Saturday, until I remembered the folly of allowing a  kitten in a weaving workshop.

My new rosepath scarf warp in 16/2 softest Swedish cotton, charcoal gray and the color of a luna moth,  was clawed and tangled even more as I tried to extract him, and the 36 claws he might possess.
(I haven't been able to get a good count of the toes yet, but there may be as many as 9 on each paw).

Meanwhile, customers arrived, children, parents, grandparents, campers from the campground across the street, two of my cat-craziest customer-neighbors (you know who you are).  The air was conditioned (very cool) and the kitten was frisky. No one was in a hurry to leave.

Since he isn't named yet, I soon had a list of kitten name suggestions, and people advocating for their favorite.  Jasper, Chester, Felix, Smoky, Hector, Goober, Tootsie, Thumper, Killer, and Stanley.  Several people strongly favored Tootsie.  I like Iko, not sure why.  But so far it seems to come down to Big Foot, the obvious name.  Kitten enjoyed all the attention, and I felt my ominous black-cloud thoughts lifting, refreshed in the company of good-hearted people.