There is a stretchy string in our living room.
I don’t know where it came from, but it is there. Oliver loves stretchy strings. This afternoon, the grey kitten decided to move the string to a different location. I’m not sure what his motivation was. Safety from the brother? Better place to play? Putting it somewhere where he wouldn’t forget where he put it?
We all know how that last one goes, right?
Oliver picked up the string and looked around. He tried placing it in the fortress. He tried two or three boxes, but none of them were right. So he took the string and jumped onto the dining room table. He set it down. Batted at it. Looked out the window and sighed.
He picked up the string and went into the kitchen. I heard him walking around, crying.
He went upstairs.
He came back downstairs.
He cried and I called to him. He returned to the living room, string hanging from his mouth, and gave me a soulful, sorrowful look. And then he set the string down, exactly where he’d picked it up in the first place.
And the grey kitten joined me on the couch for a snuggle. He’ll figure out what to do with the string tomorrow.