Life with a kitten is interesting. Never having had a pet of my own before, this is all new ground for me.
Stan seems to think that we are his personal climbing walls. And he sees my feet as independent creatures that he needs to attack. He sees his reflection in the exterior of the dishwasher and the oven door, and just about goes crazy trying to get at the kitten he sees. I'm afraid that I can see an Anne of Green Gables complex developing within him. ( ANNE: The only real friend I ever had was Katie Morris, and she was only my window friend. MARILLA: Window friend? ANNE: I discovered her in the window of Mrs. Thomas' bookcase, which was the only window which hadn't been smashed by her intoxicated husband. I lived with them before the Hammonds. I used to wish I knew the spell to step through the glass into Katie's world, which was so beautiful.)
( Just to clarify: my husband is not in the habit of being intoxicated.)
Stan can be VERY loud. We shut him in the laundry room at night or when we go out, so he doesn't have accidents in the rest of the house, or scratch things to ribbons. ( This is just a temporary thing, until we know that he is house-trained...) And if we had gotten a parrot, he could not be a louder screamer than this kitten. We can hear him crying all the way upstairs at the opposite end of the house. Not that our house is mansion sized by any means, but I was quite impressed with the way his voice can carry. He certainly knows how to tug at the old heart strings.
Brad had forgotten how much he is allergic to cats. We are still not sure what we are going to do...I'm afraid that Stanley is like Anne Shirley in more ways than one; right now, he is here "on trial." I am so amazed at how strongly I want to keep him. I never thought my heart could be captured so quickly by an animal; when he settles down in my lap and starts purring, I pretty much melt. Let's just hope he can last the week without any major catastrophes, like dying his hair green, insulting visitors, or losing any of my keepsakes from past tragic romances.
Maybe we should spell his name with an 'e' at the end. "Stanne." Hmmmm....
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8 comments:
I didn't know Brad was allergic to cats! How could he possibly be with years and years experience of tons of cats??
The apple don't fall far from the tree, Marilla. (Not sure what I'm referring to here but it sounds good.)
I most definitely think you should spell his name with an 'e.'
Does this mean we can call you Marilla?
A little Zyrtec and Brad will be able to sleep with Stan(ne) right next to his head. :D
Evidently kittens have the same Need to Destruct Surroundings that puppies do? Awwww, that's so cute!
I don't miss the Waking of the Dead (a.k.a. cat crying) aspect of cat ownership. My ex-cat loved to wake me up with that horrible talking/screeching/yowling during the early morning hours because, well, I'm not sure he ever had a reason. But the early morning communication was worth it...very few things in life can compare to snuggling with a warm, purring kitty. :)
Zyrtec!! Thanks, Amy! The other night, I was trying to remember what that stuff was called and could not come up with it for the life of me...
Brad's allergic to cats and you still might keep him? How crazy is that! (Said by a fellow cat-allergy sufferer, who doesn't know how he would tolerate living with a cat on a permanent basis. Guess there are degrees of allergicness!)
I feel bad for Bradley already. Chin up man, this life is but a season of sorrow, then onto Eternal Glories!
heh, heh, heh...
We're both allergic to cats but for some reason, the longer we had our cats, the less allergic we were to them. After a few months, I guess we adapted to their dander or something.
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