Once upon a time, in a land far from my current mental state, we owned three cats. And one of these little fur balls went by the name KitKat .
My son adopted KitKat when he was 7 years old. He loved this cat and wanted her to go with him everywhere he went. She followed him, probably not for the reasons he thought, but that’s another story.
She was playful, sometime too playful, but over all a good cat. When playing with her, she could get a bit overboard with those claws of hers, but she would immediately repent and try to lick at the spot her claws dug into.
Kitkat was born to be outdoors and was constantly trying to escape at the slightest opening of the door. However, living so near to the highway as we do, I worried she would escape and head right for it, only to end up getting squished by one of the many trucks that zoomed by the house.
Here is a picture of her trying to help us with the laundry. A place she often went…but (thankfully) not the reason she is no longer with us.
Kitkat is living with a farmer as his designated mouser. She is quite happy at the farm with the animals and mice and other rodents. Not to mention the outdoors and freedom to roam where and when she pleases without the worry of getting hit by a semi along the highway.
I believe the farmer said she has had several litters and they are all like her: active, happy, and free.
Anyways, I give you Kitkat…
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