07.13.11

Dearëst Zoë,

Your Daddy is a hero.  Specifically, he is my hero.  This Saturday, he fell with you in his arms and he twisted around to take the full impact of the fall on his back rather than let you be hurt.  That's how much he loves you, sweetness.  Without even thinking about it, he would put himself in harm's way if it meant saving you.  I hope as you grow you will come to understand just how precious a love like that is and what an amazing father you have.  There isn't anything he wouldn't do for your well-being.

On a lighter note, we have a new family member.  We named him Pippin, after the mischievous hobbit in Lord of the Rings.  So far he is living up to his appellative marvelously.  Last night, after all the lights were turned out and everyone was tucked comfortably in their beds, Pippin decided to cuddle up to Daddy.  He had just made good use of the litter box and suddenly I heard your Daddy sniffing.


"Do you smell that?" he asked me.

"No, I can't smell anything but the incense burning on my bedside table," I answered.

"It smells like poop," he said.  "I don't know if it's because he just used the litter box or if it's on him.  Can you check?"

"There's no lights on," I complained.

"Please," your Daddy begged, holding the offending kitten out away from him for inspection.

Still grumbling, I climbed out of bed and turned the light on.  Sure enough, your Pippin had tracked a litter box special back into bed with him and I spent the next half hour cleaning it out of the fur between his toes and laughing at your Daddy who was roaring with indignation.  It's always funny when the poop is on someone else. 

Or as your very wise Great Aunty said to me today, "it's infinitely better to be the poo-flinging monkey than the person who goes to the zoo to see the monkey".