Originally Posted by Katie H
Love it! As I was reading your post, I thought you were going to report a "kitten explosion" as a result of some, um, begatting on the part of your new young residents. Glad to see, so far, that's not been the case, although they are close to the perfect age for that.
Your description was perfect and, like Addie, I could visualize all the flying about and scurrying for safety. Aren't they fun?
They are a hoot! They are all fixed -- for my own protection -- and they do the hallway surfing on the runner. The problem is that we have hardwood floors so when they jump off the runner they have no traction so they slam themselves into the linen closet. I've never seen such a bunch of dingbats.
Not only that but at treat time, we separate the three from our five adult cats. Now I know why I've never had more than two kittens at a time. With two, you can scoop them up, open the guest room door with their treats, and run away.
Not so with three. It's that danged third one who decides to be independent, and that gives you a whole other meaning to the term "herding cats."
The kittens are 10 months old and one of them, a big black one named Buster, already weighs in at a whopping 15 pounds. He came down with a cold and colds can be deadly to cats because they don't breathe well through their mouths like dogs do. So I call the vet and tell them I'm bringing one of the kittens, Buster.
So I'm dragging this 15-pound monster out of the crate by his hind legs when the vet comes in. He took one look at him and said, That's a kitten? I thought I was going to see a kitten. That's not a kitten, that's a panther!"
I said, "Yeah, yeah, I know. We had a little issue with him getting into the Miracle-Gro in the garage. Dang, I'll be darned, I thought that stuff only worked on tomatoes."
Anyway, he's fine now.
His brother, who we call Tuxy, is a perfect black and white tuxedo with very long fur and a plume of a tail and, even down to the milk mustache. He's a narcissist. He preens in front of our mirrored closet doors for hours. Our daughter didn't even spend that much time in front of mirrors. Geez!
Molly, their little sister is tiny. I'm guessing she was the runt. We nicknamed her the Princess because she refused to go out the dog door between the kitchen and the garage where the pet area is. We had to open the door for her and finally I gave up and shoved her little self through the door.
Molly got even. Hubby borrowed my credit card and left it on the kitchen table. I had given up and so I went to the garage to clean the litterboxes...and there was Molly burying my credit card.
It must have been a hint!