Ten minutes before eight o'clock and I was out the door, rushing around the corner to the house owned by the woman who'd promised me my kitten at eight sharp. I knocked at the door even though I didn't see any extra cars in the driveway, figuring they'd just dropped him off or something and she had him inside. She opened the door and said I had to wait another day, the younger daughter wasn't letting anybody near the kittens, so they had to figure out how to sneak mine.

The next night I did just about the same thing, and yet again, he was not there. Now, I was pretty darn ticked off and tired of this by that point, but the next night, I still walked down a few houses to that one. There wasn't any extra car in the driveway, but Betty said that the woman with my kitty was running a little late and had said she'd be there in a few.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a car drove up and she stepped out holding this tiny little brown fuzzball. Curled up, he had to be no bigger than my hand- he only weighed a few ounces, and was the runt of the litter. Nobody likes the runt, but I guess that's why I love him so much.

I was worried I'd break the poor little guy he was so tiny. He mewed as she passed him to me and his tiny claws were out to grip onto anything solid. I must have thanked her a billion times before she left and I ran home with him tucked in my coat- of course, he had to be vocal the whole time, mewing and complaining about the jostling. Once we got him home and in his bed however- a small box with his blanket we'd gotten him- he layed on his back, belly up, and just kind of stared at us. Such big monsters we were, ya know?

He had a little while to get settled and then we stuck him in my room with a gate and something heavy over the box so he wouldn't get out. He mewed a little but just as I got up to see if he was okay, he was asleep- curled up in that little ball, no bigger than my hand.