I used to think kittens were cute. Soft. Cuddly. Sweet. When they crawl up on your shoulder and knead in your hair purring so loud you can’t hear the rest of the world….that is a sweet moment….if you are a cat lover. I have three cats. Well, one is just the essence of cat these days, blind, skinny and almost 20 years old. Another is 16 years old and should be worth his weight is gold and many times I wonder if we have gotten his life’s worth out of him in the eight years since spending over five thousand dollars to keep him alive. The third is a kitten. He’s not even five months old yet and has almost gone through his nine lives in the few short months he’s been with us. I say almost because he’s still here and even though I keep thinking he’s on his last one, he manages to stick around. Now he’s a really cute kitten. He’s soft and cuddly. He’s got these really cute tufts of fur in his ears and coming out from behind his ears. Arwen loves to cuddle with him and when he’s sleeping he’s just the sweetest little furry thing in our whole house.
But he attacks both the adults cats. The 16 year old now resorts to hiding inside a kitchen cabinet and the 20 year old is used to hiding whenever Jeff is not around anyway, but little Mozart manages to find him and pounce on him wherever he may lie. When you have two cats that are 20 and 16 years old, it’s almost like having children that are teenagers and almost but not quite independent. You no longer have cabinet locks on or baby gates on stairways, you don’t fret about medicines being accessible or cleaning products living under the kitchen sink. And then you have a baby. Suddenly all the baby proofing you let slide over the years is needed but forgotten. You forget that your new baby…or new kitten….doesn’t know it’s not OK to walk on kitchen tables or counters but sometimes deep in the back of your mind you almost wish you could leave the stove on just for a moment so he could learn a hard lesson. You forget that they nap all day and play all night. I think I have determined the thing that wakes Zoe up in the middle of the night is the kitten wanting to play. Though I tell him 2am is not a god time to interact with the children, he doesn’t believe me and continues to try each and every night. When my cat was a kitten, I remember him attacking my feet under the covers while I slept at night. I remember getting frustrated but thinking how cute he is in his own kitty innocence. When Mozart does it at night I am only frustrated that I don’t have an outside door leading from my bedroom so when I kicked him after drawing blood on my tender feet, I could kick him right out to the driveway. I am also a little angered by the view from the second floor in my house because so often I peer down from the hallway on the second floor and looking directly three floors below onto the basement floor, I can’t help but wonder how he would do flying down that far. His feet are huge and I’m pretty sure he’s part Puma, so I’m sure he’d just bounce right back up like on a trampoline, but I don’t have the heart to try.
I’m a mother of two wonderful children and pregnant with my third baby and the caretaker of three cats and a fish. I have no patience for the wonderful sweet babyhood of Mozart the sweet and cute and cuddly kitten.
But to those of you that are animal lovers, such as myself, but with patience, please know I will not hurt him, have no intention of kicking him onto the driveway or dropping him three floors below. But I did feel the need to bitch about him!