Good night, you princesses of Yorkshire, you queens of England

Last night, I saw Weezer again, together with her new kimble of kittens: Io, Artemis and Leah.

Of all of them, Io is the one who most resembles his mother and most consistently sits closest to her:



Artemis looks almost identical to Fran, her sister. But she's a lot more adventurous than Fran ever was when she was little and was the first to burrow her face into a pile of sardines.





Leah, who looks like none of Weezer's previous kittens, is the shyest of the three, and has a habit of sitting slightly away from the rest of them, preferring instead, to sniff a hedge or an interesting brick than play follow the leader with the others.





It's strange to think of Weezer, and her kimble, not being my responsibility, in the same way that she clearly was last year. As I lay on the wet pavement last night, there was still something of that old relationship and trust still, an expression that said, 'Thanks for all the fish'. And that was nice.



Good night, you princesses of Yorkshire, you queens of England