Nine years ago today, the last of Luddkolt’s British Shorthair litter were born. It wasn’t a concious choice at that time. It just became a fact. Been there, done that, everything in life has its time. And admittedly, breeding quality never quantity brits may be filled with both joy and sorrow, and lots of oxytocin filled cuddles, but it doesn’t exactly save the world.
So after 20 years, countless of cat shows, weekend hours on the roads all over Sweden and Norway, and seven generations of teddybearish kitties the decision grew that it was enough.
Today the littlest of the beloved bunch of tykes turns 9. She doesn’t look a day older than 2.
If my memory serves me right (and who knows after this corona-year) I have a couple of oldies turning 16-17 this month too.
And then they were seven, left. I’m not sure how to live, or even cope, without brits in my life. All kitties are created equal, but after spending decades in the company of these plush characters, the love story is solid and forever. So I’ll just not think about the bleak prospect of old age taking its toll.
Anyway, it may be Easter Eve today, but it’s also Caturday and most of all it’s Ågot-day, the happiest of birthdays to you, darling fluffster, may we have many more lovely years together, me, you and everyone else in the Luddkolt’s family of very special kitties!
EDIT: Bad Meowmy with brain fog or a case of April’s fool, I thought Easter Eve was April 4, Ågot’s birthday. So technically I posted this a day early. Oops.
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