think kittens are the epitome of cuteness and cuddliness! So, when mama
cat “Tiny” birthed two babies under my bed three weeks ago, we were
excited! At first, they looked like blind rats but quickly they became
quite roly-poly. I took to calling them “little piggies” and named them
“Sausage Patty and Jimmie Dean.” (Note the “ie” on Jimmie; they are both
girls, naturally.) I didn’t really want them under my bed. I feared,
“What if my bed crashed to the floor for no reason and squished them?”
Apparently I wasn’t the only one concerned because Tiny moved them a few
days later to behind the couch, right here next to my computer. Well,
early yesterday morning something happened, and they discovered their
legs and came creeping out as I sat here, deep in my Facebook stalking.
Scared the bejeezus out of me, I thought at first a furry tarantula was
crawling across my foot. I decided then that it was time for another
relocation. I have one of those big tubs that I hardly use. (It takes
all the hot water in the tank TWICE just to fill it up.) I’d discovered
with a previous litter that it makes the perfect kitten corral when they
are mobile but not big enough to keep themselves from doing things like
getting stuck behind the dryer or under someone’s shoe.
By this time
it was daylight, I’d not been to bed yet and I was beyond tired. But I naively
thought this would work, it had in the past, and I wanted to get them settled
before I lay down. I found a soft, fuzzy rug and made them a nice bed in one end
of the tub. In the other end, I put some fancy feast and a water bowl for Tiny.
I then attempted to place her in with the piggies and she let me know right
quick she wasn’t agreeable and proceeded to shred me to bits.
OK. Time to
regroup. My only other option was to put them in the empty closet in the spare
room. I moved all the paraphernalia in there, blocking the closet door with a
baby gate leftover from one of my grandsons. Again, Tiny was NOT having it. This
time she not only clawed me but also grabbed Patty by the head and jumped the
gate. Trying to catch her, I slammed my hand into the wall. OOWWW. Just knew I
broke my pinky.
By then I was
literally punch-drunk from not sleeping. I sat on the floor considering whether
I should cry from exhaustion or go to the ER for my busted pinky (surely there
was a bone sticking out...). That was when Tiny dashed by with Jimmie in her
short, she took them back behind the couch, where they refuse to stay. As I
write this, there are two tiny furballs crawling all over my feet.
At least it’s
not tarantulas. (Here’s where I usually say, “It could happen”, but it
couldn’t... I hope.)