Where's Waldo?

Err, I mean , Potto.

Every bedtime begins with the same question, as regular as the call to prayer. "Where's Potto?" The other kittens will crash in some ordinary spot. Jean Lafitte usually sleeps right on the rug. Lazarus Boopsie will go to sleep wherever you are. Hobbes says, "What's sleep?"

But Potto, he marches to the beat of his own drummer. And his drummer never takes him to the same place twice. So we're always hunting for him when it's time to tuck the tuckered kittens to bed.

Tonight the babes were extra exhausted after a longer-than-usual play time and their first solid food ever.





Naturally, Potto was the star pupil of the bunch. He's gifted in the eating department! But where to find him now, resting up for another session with gourmet pate?

I looked everywhere, and couldn't find him at all. Then I remembered the last time I'd seen him. Busy making pesto (YUM!), I'd caught a glimpse of him exploring, but that was an hour ago! Would he still be there?

Well, yes, especially since I shut the cupboard door in the meantime. Pasta, anyone?