Little Fish is scared of cats. I like them. I'd almost go so far as to say a house is not a home without a cat somewhere. Before Little Fish came along, we had a wonderful cat called Henry. He moved out when the ceiling fell down on Bob, and we've been catless ever since (he wasn't hurt, just shocked, and he moved to a house further down the road where he lived happily for a couple of years. He seems to have disappeared completely now).
Last night I visited friends who have just had kittens. Not personally; perhaps I should say their cats have just had kittens. They keep pedigree cats (British Shorthair), and have three seriously cute baby kittens, two creams and a blue. Beautiful. Cute. Fuzzy. We won't be getting one of their kittens - apart from anything else, Bob still has not finished and I'm not introducing a cat into this building mayhem. But we are working on Little Fish slowly; last weekend she even managed to touch one of my parents' cats without breaking into a cold sweat. Progress.
Meanwhile I remembered why a kitten might be a bad idea. Especially when combined with Little Fish's willingness to "help".
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