When Kittens Attack

I love kittens, but they’re lethal killers in training.

Let’s be candid. It takes a brave human to say they dislike kittens. We now have three of them, born in the closet just like the previous litter three years ago. The mother, Pumpkin, is essentially a feral cat who lives in our home. We’re proponents of fixing animals for their health and safety, but Pumpkin. . . .well, she prefers to do things her own way.

The Escape.

We had a rather robust storm some months back that caused a previously sound door to fly open. Cats escaped. Cats came back. Missy is, in all ways, a Cat Whisperer. Without her efforts, we would still be waving cans of tuna around the back yard in hopes of luring Pumpkin back into her home.
Pumpkin did not. 

Enter Georgie. Literally.

Georgie is a battle-scarred tomcat who has several qualities: he’s lovable, fertile, and produces the nicest kittens I’ve ever seen. We recently began seducing him with warm pillows. This is Georgie.


Georgie and Pumpkin are like Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. They were meant to be together. And darned if they don’t make beautiful babies, who are all whisked away to wonderful homes because– well, look at them.


They’re unbelievably cute little nuggets of cuddlefuzz. Even the most rock-ribbed lumberjack says so. Let’s meet the current crop, shall we?
This is Flour. He’s confident. His brothers are Hazel and Filbert (Teddy names all kittens, and has a bit of a cooking ingredient fascination at this time). 

Meet Hazel and Filbert. They too are confident.                         

  

They don’t really have many worries. Not now. Not ever, given this level of kitten-ness.


The Attacks.

The attacks come between 1-3 AM, and generally consist of a darting streak of fuzz. You’d be surprised at just how loud ten ounces of kitten can be, but give them a running start, and they sound remarkably like a small antelope crashing through the bedroom. I’ve never had that animal loose in my home; I’m only guessing based on decades of watching nature shows. I think it’s legally required that nature programs show antelope at some point in the broadcast.

 Oddly enough, having these little guys around makes life interesting, and not in a Chinese-curse-kind-of-interesting-way. I like that energy in the home as it helps me write more, and with a greater degree of charity. I haven’t killed a single character since these little guys were born. 

That speaks to the power of the– as our son calls them– tiny bubbas. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but for now, I’m happy to burn through chapters while teaching them to drink goat’s milk and stalk my toes.

Gotta run. I hear purrs.

Cheers,

Terry

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