The kitten we found at the side of the road is in that small pink towel on the ground. Everett is burying her, after caring for her faithfully for weeks.

Her eyes were still gummy and although he was sure kittens usually get over this sort of thing, given time, I asked Scott to pick up an antibiotic from the vet. Two days later, the kitten was dead.

I blame the medicine. She was fine, except for her eyes, before we gave her that. We hated to see her go; she was a sweetheart.

***

Everett and I were doing dishes one day with the radio on.
"Who's that?" he asked.
"Bob Dylan," I said. "Very famous folksinger."
He said, "Ew! You know what he sounds like?
Like a teenager whining and complaining to his mother!"

And he went on to make up his own lyrics and sing them in the Dylanesque style:

"... and you MAKE me do ALL this WORK
and you DON'T even PAY me ...

Every time I need a chuckle now, I ask him to do it again. He's turned into a darn good mimic.