It's a popular notion that modern Jethro Tull and Ian Anderson solo albums are increasingly indistinguishable. That argument may hold water from the narrowest of musical perspectives, but it's hard to imagine the obtusely grandiose Tull tackling any of the personally scaled, delicately detailed themes that Anderson focuses on here with his familiar folk-au-baroque muse--and the sparest of world music seasonings. Ranging from the title track's celebration of a new kitten's scamperings to the passing of a trusted feline friend ("Old Black Cat") to frank, introspective musings about his own insecurities ("Lost in Crowds," "Two Short Planks"), it's an album that evokes an old, if slightly eccentric, friend musing about his life and times. Indeed it's hard not to be charmed by Anderson's gentle, often self-deprecating wit as he variously lusts after an international CNN anchor ("Not Ralitsa Vassileva") and a decent cup of joe ("Calliandra Shade--The Cappuccino Song") or pays homage to a respected Italian flautist and makes urinary tract puns on the brisk instrumentals, "Griminelli's Lament" and "Eurology," respectively. A breeze of an album that virtually begs the listener to take life at least half as seriously as he does. --Jerry McCulley