So now there’s cat shit all over my internet.
Which is better than what was on there the week I was researching whale penises.
However, just as the internet surmised, I was definitely inclined to click on the cat shit. These first few weeks with my kittens I’ve had lots of questions, and the internet had lots of expensive answers. I’ve learned stuff. Until recently, for instance, I was unaware that there was such a thing as feline acne. I wouldn’t think it would be too disfiguring, under the fur and circumstances.
But the internet does have many commercial suggestions for the new kitten owner. Here’s an example:
8 pcs/Set Cat Repellent Mat Tip Spikes High Elasticity Free Splice Foldable Round Head Dog Cat Scat
Well, I, for one, am going to be very disappointed when the Chinese start cleaning up their English content with AI. All I know for sure about this item is it has eight pieces. After that I’m at sea. It’s either standard advertising copy or it’s a list of rejected names for quarks.
Toys, toys, toys! Keeping your cat entertained is paramount for discouraging utter mayhem. Which is why I believe the makers of the Rave Cave are on the wrong track with consumers seeking a peaceful home environment. The Rave Cave is a multi-sensory tunnel for active cats who love to party. It features motion-activated music, a crinkle floor, a light show, and a disco ball. They sell this. Somebody’s doin’ the hustle.
At least I don’t worry about them fighting. They get along like, um, a house on fire. But, although they are siblings, they’re not the same. The differences between them were evident immediately, and they persist.
Wally plans to set sail and discover a new continent. First Mate Clifford will rock himself into a stupor watching the sail snap.
Wally is working on perfecting her triple salchow-double toe loop combination. Clifford’s ear got turned inside-out an hour ago and he feels like something’s off but doesn’t know what to do about it.
Wally likes to chase Clifford’s tail. Clifford also likes to chase Clifford’s tail.
Wally has seen a bug on the wall. Wally is calculating the force of her vertical velocity at takeoff while accounting for the downward acceleration due to gravity, -9.81 meters per second squared.
Clifford has just put his tongue in the wall socket.
Still, both kittens are remarkably well adjusted, for Gen Betas who are constantly being misgendered. In fact, Wally and Clifford are happy. Holy shit, they are happy. I’m the one who has toggled between delight and regret. The thing is, they are exuberating all over the place. They are paragons of pillage. They are dervishes of destruction. They are the fuzzy living embodiment of joie de vivre, and there are times we have entirely too much joie around here.
The other night I sat in my favorite chair and pondered the eruptions of noise happening elsewhere in the house. Is that the metronome whacketing off the piano? Would that be the Fabergé egg? When did they learn to drive a semi? As they galloped guiltlessly into my presence, evading their imminent demise only by virtue of being insanely cute, my questions became ever more philosophical.
What in God’s name have I gotten myself into?
Something had to be done.
To be continued.
So funny and kitten’s are the best.
Well one of them is the best and the other is the second best! (They switch off though.)
Your writing absolutely glistens, Murre, and I think I know where it’s coming from: those two possible mistakes, those two joy generators. I am having the same ohmygodwhathaveIdone feelings about (my) Tater, which, now that he’s going on 15 weeks old and the snow that hung around for a month is finally gone and he is finally figuring out that maybe a Ruggable is not the same as grass, are subsiding. Still with me after that sentence? Good. I am sitting in our favorite chair with him swaddled in Sherpa fleece, snoring and farting (Tater, that is) at my side. And I think that getting him is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I suspect that you feel that way about your rocket scientist and her little sidekick. And that brings me great joy. xoxoxo jz
True confessions: I wrote a number of kitten posts and have been sprinkling them out over time, so they’re out of date. But at this writing these kittens have proved themselves spectacular. They’re not even DOING the things that drove me insane. They have lost interest in chewing cords or tearing up carpet. They’re not tearing up furniture. They’re mostly not dancing on the piano. And they’re wildly affectionate. At least Clifford is. Wally is more restrained but demonstrative. I do think the little buttonheads are going to work out! (And I didn’t have to deal with that, uh, Ruggable issue.)
You know exactly what you have gotten into before you brought them home.
I barely knew I was bringing them home before I brought them home. It was an ambush.
That’ll teach you to let your guard down near cute kittens.
I feel you. In late 2023, we rescued a 2 year old Redbone Coonhound. I’m not sure “rescued” is exactly the right term — perhaps “unleashed upon ourselves” would be more accurate. Let me say right now that owning two octogenarian cats (my previous pets) does *not* prepare you for the force of nature that is a 2-yr old hound. For one thing, those cats were with me for 20+ years, so I had completely forgotten the caffeinated tumbleweed of destruction that is a young animal! For another, the cats were the indoor variety; dogs have to go OUTSIDE. And this one — her name is Rosie — has to go OUTSIDE for long periods of time, multiple times per day no matter the weather, because sniffing every available sniff, as well as locating & flushing every rabbit — dead or alive — in a one mile radius of our house is the numero uno, tippy-top, primary mission in her young life (because, HOUND). My husband and I both lost 15 lbs during the first three months of dog outside-ing and we also both have “leash-arm,” which I am pretty sure is at least an inch longer than the other one. Extra-large dog, you say? Sort-of; she has topped out at around 47 lbs, but it’s really the steel coils arrayed about her body in the guise of muscles that does it. My sister-in-law says she has ‘runway’ legs, but I’m thinking more like ‘speed-skater’…
There were many days when I wondered if I was really meant to be a dog-owner (or the owner of this dog in particular), and whether or not there was someone else out there who could do a better job for her. Those were some sad days, probably for both of us.
But now we are over 2 years in and, like Wally & Clifford, our Rosie has abandoned most of her previous crazy-making tactics. We’ve all learned a lot about each other, and maybe she still barks at everything that moves outside of the windows, but we haven’t discovered any gnawed possessions or inappropriate elimination events in over a year. Maybe we’ll all survive.