Christmas, Baby.
The next morning at the hospital nursery Kitty approached her premature grandson for the first time. The nurse allowed her to hold him and he yawned with a power which awed her. Suddenly there was something small showing its strength by pushing against her grasp. Choosing her.
She said, “You bring the poon, we’ll bring the doom.”
She was always down for trouble.
Always in some kind of it.