This is Kit Kit. Kit Kit is fluffy and orange and likes to play with string. He’s got a paw the size of a tow trunk because it contains a couple of extra digits. He uses it to keep all you varmints in line. A slap in the face from that paw could knock your head right off.

Not that he would ever do such a thing, for Kit Kit is the sweetest little kitty you’ll ever meet, sweet as apricot jam, due unscientifically to the fact that he’s orange. ORANGE CATS RULE. Anyway, due to that demure disposition, as well as the lovely locks and the luscious tail, I could not stop referring him as a her.

“Oh what a pretty girl – I mean boy!”
“I want to take her – I mean him – home.”
“She I mean he – would make a great sister I mean brother – for the boys.”
“Do you think Veebs would be jealous of her I mean him?”

I was plagued with some sort of weird feline sexism. It was enough to make Kit Kit go batty!

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Hewp, my manliness is at stake! P.S. rub my belly.

Kit Kit belongs to my good college friend’s mother. He called waaaay back in Feb or March I think, soon after I first announced the pet photography officially open for business, to have me photograph his mom’s cat for her birthday. It wasn’t until a few weekends ago that we finally got around to it. Not in New Hampshire, where they normally live, but at their house in Cape Cod where Kit Kit was spending her I mean his summer. I tell ya, all these pets with their vacation homes on the Cape or the Vineyard or Nantucket and whatnot…if that’s the only way for me to get a beach house, in my next life I would like to sign up as cat or a dog please.

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That last picture there on the right is sah-LIGHTly creepy I must say. Reminds me a little of the Scream, but with more hair.

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After we shot indoors, we headed outdoors where Kit Kit’s mom suggested we photograph him sitting next to the pond, next to the hydrangeas, in front of the giant maple tree. I thought Wow, this will be the most cooperative feline I’ve ever met! Turns out, as soon as he was placed on the ground, he was off and running back to the house.

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Later, biatches.

Here is where put down my camera, pick up my pipe, and begin psycho-analyzation of a cat: Kit Kit was a stray who had wandered into his parents’ garage several years ago, bedraggled, hungry, and exhausted. Perhaps it was all that unknown time he spent out of doors on his own, lonely and miserable, that has led Kit Kit to hate the out of doors as a pet. Better now to just watch the outdoors from the comfy confines of a nice, warm house, where a reassuring scratch on the head is always but a few inches away…

Kit Kit

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Purr.

See you again soon, Kit!