Transitions.

Happy, or at least comical transition: the kitten has grown enough that if she tries REALLY hard, she can vault onto the hutch once in every 10 tries or so. This is pretty good, since the surface is about waist high. This is bad in that my poor Sophia has one fewer place to hide.

Sad, but expected transition: my parents had to put Lady down on Friday. It's actually past time. Ideally, we would have done it when I was home in April, but Dad just wasn't ready to let go. She's happier now. I hope that until we meet again, she has someone to throw sticks for her, and shovels full of snow. And, since I'm not the one washing her, I hope there's a lakeshore, with lots of dead rotting fish to roll in. That's her favorite smell in the world. And basketballs to pop, and UPS men to chase. I love you, puppy.