This past week Beau and Luke hit the big seven years of age. I don’t know if they measure cat years like dog years, but the cat food makers classify cats seven and older as “senior.” They are the oldest members of my clowder.

Their mamma, Sunshine, was a pregnant rescue who was taken in by my oldest daughter and her husband. Luke and Beau were two out of her litter of five. The other three were females. The birth pattern was female, then male (Luke), then female, then male (Beau), then female. That meant Luke was born before Beau, making him oldest by two hours. Interestingly enough Luke has grown into the heavier of the two boys by a pound or two. At the time the kittens were first born my daughter was looking to place the newborn kittens when they turned eight weeks. It looked like it was going to be difficult to place the boys, so in a moment of weakness sympathy towards the male kittens I uttered the fateful words that I’d take them if no one else would. No one did, and so they moved from where they were born down to my home.

And that’s where they’ve lived ever since.

I’d have posted this as a Caturday entry, but Ian’s passage through Florida and keeping track of south-west Florida’s ongoing struggles to even start to recover have kept me both occupied and depressed.