Crazy little thing called fluff.

Trying to take pictures for the blog. Have to go outside because natural light looks better. Of course, nothing can be easy…Here’s what I get when I open the door:

She runs in, flops down on the old shoe mat, and starts attacking the shoes, thus indicating that it’s play time.

She thinks I’m her mommy. She also thinks that I’m fun to attack.

Oh, hi toe. Let me attack you too.

And then she’ll decide that she wants to join the zombie trend.

I don’t mind the zombie qualities, though. She’s such a little fluffy sweetheart.

See? She lets me hold her. But she was too busy nestling into my neck to look at the camera. She’s such a squirmy little kitten.

She is yet to be named. We were thinking Fluffanella, but she’s such a little maniac that the name is almost too prissy. She’s technically not ours to name. She just lives outside of our house and has basically claimed us. We probably should be named by her.

Cats constantly flock to me. A new one was her yesterday. She was a tortoiseshell and was hungry–and sick. I love animals and I hate thinking about them being sick or put to sleep. Right now, my own cat is curled up in a ball on my lap. I really wish she got along with the kitten. I could have two balls of fur on my lap right now.

Oh well, I guess that’s wishful thinking. Plus, I don’t want the title of “cat lady.”

As in:

(via The Simpsons)

 I’d rather be “Cat Woman.”

As in:

As in the attractive supervillain played by Julie Newmar in the ’60s. Only I would be a superhero instead.