Every night the kittens have a party. Asterisk and Comma get some music going, while Dash and Virgule distribute favors and pass around drinks.
By the time I’m fully awake, the jazz is quick and dangerous and the neighbor’s dogs are howling. Dash and Comma dance a tarantella on my head. At first I burrow under the covers, but gradually their revelry lures me out.
We’re telling my autobiography using shadow puppets when our Boston terrier sticks his head in. Before he can order us to bed, the kittens have whisked everything away, and we pile up in the quiet dark.
Very good imagery–and love the unique names you give the kittens!