I excitedly went to ooh and aww at the squirmy rat-looking creatures with the eyes scrunched tight. Days old, if that. No mama cat to be seen, but we assumed she was close by and let them be. We lined a box with some cloth and sat it in the shed along with a bowl of water. The next day, we checked and the little ones had been moved to the box, but no sign of the mom at that moment. Long story short: eventually the kittens had all been moved but one remained, mewing and making teeny tiny little crawls around the box.
I was told that when I was feeding him I would know that he was eating enough if his belly looked like a full pear. And, it did. He'd be slim and sleek before the bottle, and then after sucking it all down a round, full, warm belly. A nap was soon to follow.
A sign that he had had enough. That he had been nourished. That he was full of good things. Here, the prelude to rest.
When I looked up the synonyms of enough as I ponder the word the year, bellyful was a surprise, but certainly the most vivid one. This year there is sure to be various connotations swirling throughout my head, but I imagine this one will stand strong as I picture the kitten's greedy sucking of the bottle, the full tummy, the rest that came later. And even the human part of this picture of "enough" - my alarm clock going off far-too-often, the community-of-people that helped (pet store, the vet, my parents) to provide the "bellyful" to this little, seemingly inconsequential, kitten.