I don't have children, I have cats

Paper is like my baby. He's two years old, and quite possibly the most adorifying kitten I have ever laid eyes on. I baby him, though not as badly as Mr. J does. Mr. J lets him get away with everything. It's a problem.

One of the cutest things Paper does is lie in very odd places. He loves to perch on the dining room table; sometimes he curls up under my desk where my feet go. When he was much smaller he preferred to hang out on or near my laptop. His most recent spot is the lowest shelf of an open bookcase; it's one of those cubey jobs we got at IKEA when we moved.

Emma and Zoe were adorable as kittens, and also slept in the strangest of spots. Here is one of my favourites of them. Zoe doesn't have as many photos taken of him nowadays because knows now what the camera is and just tries to love it when it comes out. Every once in awhile we'll catch him doing something cute.

When I'm ninety I'll be crazy and lonely, with twenty-five cats in a dusty old mansion ...