Sun Mote Copse Don't tell me what the poets are doin'

Kitten-like, Meerkat cozied herself into Niamh's embrace and seemed to enjoy her affectionate, gentle touches, which pleased Niamh to no end. She wanted the little girl to look up to Niamh as a female role model, a second mother. And she would make a presence in the young girl's life a great deal, over the first few weeks of her life, stopping by Towhee's den-log every day, often times with something for Towhee to eat. Bronco had, after all, been consistently dropping breakfast off for her, so she felt it would be a kindness to share that meal with her friend who needed the nutrition still even if her pregnancy was over. Recovery would take time, Niamh knew. 

She beamed and rubbed her nose back and forth across Meerkat's back. "You're just the sweetest, loveliest, cuuutest little Meerkat ever, aren't you? An' Neema is gonna spoile you rotten," She said pleasantly, in as much of a sing-song voice as a tone-deaf wolf could.