Welcome Home, Bianca!

2/11/06: Eight weeks. May I present, HRH Princess Bianca:



Just look at her now!

Her first picture, right before Christmas 2005:



Horace--The Pootie--has a niece. Her name is Bianca. A Wilma afterthought, she found her way to me via Friends Forever Rescue at the Petsmart in The Falls area. I've had her a month already. Yesterday I took her in to be spayed. None too soon, it turned out: contrary to previous calculations, she's a young one--circa ten months--and would soon have gone into heat. Oh, dear.

A little groggy at the moment, she's, nonetheless, back to her playing with her squiggly toys tricks. She's discovered the tops of the kitchen cabinets--shades of her uncle! I found her in the sink just a few minutes ago.

Mad Bianca is her morning and evening name. That's when she carries out her scratching practice on the carpets on either side of the bed. One's a fake, and one's a real, Bokhara. I call this her Bokhara Slaw phase. Of course I prefer when she limits her antics to the fake one...

She also lunges at my feet. I finally had to resort to a squirt bottle to keep her in check, especially at the ungodly hour of between five-thirty and six o'clock in the morning. And then she plays fetch with her squiggly: she's the batter; and I'm the pitcher. (Sometimes the order is reversed, I kid you not.)

Tonight may be different--I don't know, yet. I just checked: she's on the picture windowsill that looks out at my garden. At our garden.

She's turned into a grown-up young lady overnight: a perpetual Vestal Virgin of one, at that. Nonetheless, I hope there's enough of the kitten left in her that she'll still periodically make Bokhara Slaw out of the rugs--fake and/or real--and pounce on my feet.

Please, Bianca, please?

Welcome Home, Bianca!