Vif growing up

Here I am, Vif, looking serious.

C’mon, I am serious.

I’m deep in philosophical thought about the state of the world

and the state of Mom’s desktop.

You see, I’m almost two-and-a-half years old, no longer a kitten.

That’s like twenty-six in people age.

But Mom tells me I’m immature

just because I enjoy knocking down things like waste baskets
now and then,
and nibble the arch of her feet, trying to be affectionate.

Oh, well, Mom is not very feline, she is not.

I did this. Crushed paper all over me.  And the noise.
Oh, such fun!  Such thrill!