Our biggest armful of cat goes by the name “Nounours.” (In case you were wondering, this is the one who was originally called “Bruce Willis.” That name never worked. Nounours is French for “teddy bear,” and he responds to it.)
The upper half of Nounours was slung over Callaghan’s shoulder, the lower half was cradled in the crook of his elbow, and his back paws were tucked into the palm of his hand… 17 pounds of cat you could barely see under the smothering that was taking place. Yes, the kitty pampering in this house is shameless and pathological.
Anyway, so there’s Nounours, snuggled neatly in Callaghan’s arms, and there’s Callaghan, caught up and carried away in the bubble of kitty love.
“He’s so happy and proud, this Nounours!” he gushed, covering Nounours with kisses.
“With his big blue eyes!” I said, rubbing Nounours’s fur.
“Look at him, gros Nounours!” said Callaghan, bursting with kitty-daddy pride.
“With his pink ears and butterscotch and cream fur!” I said, kissing his velvety nose. “And his little pink nose with freckles!”
“He’s got a pink ass with freckles, too,” Callaghan added.