Fuzz-faces.

I am greeted by warm purring kittens every morning.

It's amazing, really, that they don't hold a grudge - we have to lock them into the kitchen/dining room at night so that we can sleep. And although they try to get out at every opportunity, they don't hate us in the morning. This locked-away time used to be only for a few hours, between 9:30 and 12:30, when they'd gain a huge second wind and decide it was time to go tearing and thumping and tumpling and wrestling around the house. We'd let them back out after that and they'd come to sleep with us in bed. That second wind has since increased by a few hours, long after we're sleeping, so they're locked in there all night now.

Granted, that area comprises a good third of the house, so they're not cramped at all, amd their food and litter box is in there with them, but I still feel bad about it and am charmed when they come running over to me, purring and rubbing and batting, when I get up and go into the kitchen every morning.

Of course, the purring and rubbing and light batting very quickly turns into jumping and biting at dangling fingers, and now just this morning this has evolved into bouncing along behind me as I stumble around half awake, jumping and batting at the backs of my knees and nipping at my calves. What the attratction there is, I don't know, but it's their newest game. Despite the thumps against my legs as I try to walk to the bathroom, badly balanced and groggy already from just waking up, I can't help but crack a weary smile and shake my head.

The head-butts against my outstretched hand just do me in. Sister is particularly affectionate this way, loving to have her head and face rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, purring and rubbing back so hard she sometimes snorts a little. Goblin is the one who likes to be held and carried around, toes to nose, in our arms.

They have brought a liveliness to our life that I didn't know was missing.