Kitten Terror

Is it right, I ask, to live in fear of a kitten?

About two weeks ago two of our dear children asked to get a kitten from one of our friends, whose cat had a litter of five adorable little things. We just had to; there was no way around it. The cuteness was far too cute to just let go and to give to another family who might not appreciate all the cuteness after all, and the issue was already decided before me and my wife had even said, “Yes.”

In my wife’s and my world, we were somewhat railroaded into it. In an attempt to retain some semblance of control, we of course made a number of counter demands: they had to take care of it, I (the Dad) didn’t want Mom to be cleaning the litter box because the teen girl just couldn’t do it, we don’t want her room to stink. Things like that: all reasonable demands that will probably not amount to anything in the final analysis, since it’s always the parents that end up taking care of the cat, the dog, the lizard, the gerbil, the goldfish or whatever species from the animal kingdom that is now inhabiting our house.

So we got the kitten, and – I have to admit – it is adorably cute. There is nothing like a kitten for cuteness, and me and my wife had to bow: the little animal was way too much fun to watch as it made a beginning of walking, explored its surroundings and cuddled with us.

But then something happened, something sinister. The little animal got out of my daughters room; now the barriers could not contain it. Out it was in our living area, underfoot, and there it was running across the floor after a paper wad blown by a breeze; or climbing up on the couch and walking on the back behind people’s shoulders. It seemed to be everywhere, and we found it in the Day Room under the couch and exploring the refrigerator when it was open. Then it took a huge step for kitten-hood: a small leap for a kitten, a great leap for us. It plopped itself down the stairs one step at a time, and now it was in the bottom floor of our ranch house.

Still, it spent most of the time in the kitchen\living room area, and this became a problem. It had no fear, this cute kitten, and if you were walking across the kitchen floor, minding your own dear business, it took this as a challenge and attacked you, and if you were standing and pivoted even a 1/8 inch, that was grounds to charge. It would charge and we would dance to be rid of its tiny claws and nips, and the more we danced, the more it attacked, and now it was having a grand old time but we were jumping like a bean.

This is what we live with now.

I texted my son, who encouraged this entire endeavor right from the start, that I now live in fear of this kitten. The living area in our house is no longer mine, and just being there is difficult. Several times it got so bad that I just had to take the little devil and put it out in the Day Room. There it was, looking through the glass of the door, waiting to come in. When the door was opened, it was back – with all its nips and tiny claws.

And then there’s our lazy, once-fat-but-now-on-a-diet cat, Melcore, who adjusted to the new kitten fairly well. He sniffed the little thing at first but seemed too wrapped up in lazing around and begging for food to take too much notice of it. But I did see this with my own eyes: when the food came out, both cats would run and – yes – the little devil would push the big cat out, and he – confused – just wandered into the other room until she was done eating. Who said life was fair?

Such is the life in our house now. Who would have ever thought such a cuteness could be such a terror? And what will happen when she gets older? Who knows!? This house might not be big enough for both of us, and one of us may have to go. Let’s hope its the cat.