I adopted a kitten. It wasn’t on
purpose. My plan was to get a job, get an apartment, then get a dog. A cat
wasn’t going to be part of the picture until I had a big place and maybe a
mouse infestation. Don’t get me wrong! I enjoy cats. I’ve had some great ones
over the years. Cuddles was the sweetest thing, even when she became deaf and
screamed at the top of her lungs. And Smeagol, in all her weirdness, is quite
loving when she wants to be (not to mention, the best mouser we’ve ever had).
But a dog seemed like the preferred pet of choice. Nobody can beat our family dog Seamus for
companionship. But here I am, one step closer to being a cat lady. Great.
A sad country custom is to dump unwanted kittens near a
house and hope they make it. Living on a quiet dirt road, we have been the
receivers of such surprise gifts every few years. Smeagol was a stray who followed
me home and stayed. So also with my cat. He was sounding off an ungodly whine in
the yard and driving the dog nuts. So we fed him and coaxed him closer. Though
shy at first, his over-friendly personality showed through by the next day with
him rubbing up against our legs and begging for attention. By Monday evening,
my dad declared that we were keeping him, and he’d be my cat from now on. Mom should
have never let the kitten climb onto Dad’s shoulder. He melted like butter.
I played around with a couple names, but Pippin seemed to
fit the best. He’s a ginger with a large appetite, open personality, not a lot
of sense, and a precarious curiosity. He’s a handful. I took him to the vet for
shots and promptly found out that he had ear-mites and fleas. By the time I got
him home, we had another kitten on the doorstep. His long-haired, pretty sister
was half starved and extremely shy. After getting some food into her, they both
got baths in Dawn. I’ll admit that I had never washed a cat before, but it is
an experience, thankfully made a little easier due to their current size and
her frail state. Sadly, they were both too young to introduce to medicine so
baths it was (Pip is still getting a bath weekly, but I cannot wait for him to
be old enough for drops.). Each day the female got stronger and friendlier. I
loved watching the two of them tussle and cuddle. But I couldn’t keep two
kittens. Thankfully, our neighbor Blackie knew someone who had a little girl.
She just lost her kitty, and they were looking for a new one. Perfect! So our
fuzzy little lady has a nice home just a few miles away.
Pippin, on the other hand, is a rambunctious, playful
kitten, attacking the rug tassels, Mom’s knitting, and the dog. Seamus has been
oddly patient. I can’t say the same for Smeagol. She started by hissing at
Pippin. When she realized he just didn’t care, she became terrified of him and
refused to be in the same general proximity. Weird. Really, she looks at him
like he is some sort of monster. Now, we have to constantly be on the lookout
for Smeagol to make sure she actually gets in the house to eat. I hope she gets
over her fear soon.
Pippin, living up to his name, eats way too much. He
follows me everywhere and is starting to learn the word “no.” Not sure how
effective it is yet. He has the voice of an ant though. Heaven forbid he should
actually need to be heard. He met the chickens, only because he’s small enough to
get into the outside pen. I’m hoping he never discovers that chickens are fun
to catch. We are all starting to get into the routine of having another animal,
but training is difficult. It’s kind of like having a toddler always hanging
onto your leg—lovable but annoying. And as much as I don’t want to, I have to
enter the world of litter training. Goodness knows how limited my grass access
will be in any future apartment. I hate the very idea of a litter-box. Oh,
well. In exchange, my lap will never get cold this winter!
