Check out this little black ball of fluff and warm-fuzzies. Her name is Sadie.

Sadie Jane, Sadie Mae, Ladybug-Sadiebug. And no, I'm not attached. Where on earth would you get THAT idea?

A friend found her freezing to death under a porch, and brought her over last night. It was almost enough to send Dan into a psychotic break. That's all he needs, another cat. Or the reputation that his wife has turned this house into some kind of safe-haven for kittens everywhere.

I assured him that we would find little Sadie a good home (not ours) in the immediate future. And so, like the SAINT that he is, Dan agreed to run to the store in the middle of the night for flea treatment. He loves me an awful lot, but I think this trip was mostly to get out of the cat-house. Because as soon as he got back, he retreated (locked himself in) to the bedroom.

Madeline, on the other hand, is smitten. She is holding Sadie by the neck/jaw/hind legs and snuggling her saying, "Awwww, this kitty is sooooo sweet." And I keep telling her,"Okay, thats enough." Take it easy Lennie Small.

But funnier than Dan or Madeline's reactions - is Jasper's. He can't decide if he wants to kiss her or eat her. At times he's a very motherly, which is totally hilarious because we haven't had him fixed yet - so every now and then as he's snuggling her or bathing her or toting her around in his mouth, I get a glimpse of his junk and laugh out loud, picturing him as a wonderfully gay cat-dad.

But when he's not busy nurturing his "young," he's playing with his new toy. Batting at her and sending her frailness bouncing across the living room floor. Or pinning her down on her back and poking at her gingerly with his paws.

Whether he's trying to snuggle her or pounce on her - he's always there - lurking. In every photo, lurking.