What does it mean, this sudden and unexpected change?  To have reached in but a few days nine human years of age with nary a difference in aesthetics—until now.

To you, my lass, oh Kako, Daddy’s girl, I direct this simple question: What do you tell me with this one white whisker?  Never before have your feline antennae been other than shades of charcoal, yet within these past few weeks you introduced a new twist.  One white whisker.

What does it mean?

Can passing fifty be that significant?  Does stepping o’er the hilltop and beginning the downhill walk in time mean so much that you should now present to me this dramatic change in appearance?

I fear, my only girl.  Somehow this means something… must mean something.

But what?

One white whisker. . .