Kittenhorde

Have you ever heard a hundred million kittens mewing for attention all at once? Believe me, it’s quite an experience.

Well, at least the first time you hear it. After nearly spending nearly every day in Kittenhorde for the last twenty-odd years, I can officially tell you that anything can get old. Usually, when it’s my shift on feeding duty, I wear earplugs or headphones.

Fortunately, there’s lots of space for them and there are some rivers to get around on that keep them clear. Mostly we just have to herd them a bit, keeping them from piling up at the coast of the Bay of Milk, break up fights in the Field of Little Crawly Things. But there’s still the noise. And the little prickly bits when you have to move them.

I tried wearing padded armor once, but His Lord Kittenhood said it detracted from the experience.

Damn, if you thought having a pet cat lording around the house was annoying at times, try having one as the Lord and Master of your soul.

Fortunately, he doesn’t demand much besides feeding all the kittens. And I do mean all of them. Every kitten, once sufficiently hungry, finds itself in Kittenhorde. Then, when they’ve been fed well enough, off they pop to wherever they came from. Apparently, the owners always just assume somebody else fed them. It all works out, I guess.

I still think it spoils them.

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