Kitten, you have a wild soul

At the outset, an adorable bundle of love, affection and helpless dependence, this frail creature's muddy eyes, silent, squeaky voicebox and shaky, crooked back leg, all rolled up in one pathetic vagabond, struck a cord in my being. The glory of my existence as a woman is to nurture to independence little ones just such as this. Me being a glutton for crooning and cuddling, you'd think that this kitten would be a ball of sugar and sweet, but despite all unconscious efforts to powder-puff him, kitten's soul has surfaced and it is rigidly untamed. That is the way it is going to be. I, rubbing his belly and calling him cutie pie, he, lion-heartedly attacking my hand without using claws or teeth (once in awhile his eyes shift to a look of Africa and he forgets where he is and lays a tooth too deep). Despite my tendancy to teach him to be Mr. Gentle and Kind, his wild psychosis makes me blush and sigh knowing that the world is still alive with wonder and valor. Kitten you have a wild soul.