When things get stressful, it’s good to have lovely warm fuzzy creatures who love you unconditionally to curl up with and hide from the world. And I’m not talking about boys – I don’t like them all that fuzzy. I’m talking about lovely little kittens.
I’ve recently adopted two gorgeous 6 month old tabby-and-white cats. No, I haven’t given them names yet – I’m waiting until they’re brave enough to spend less time under the bed and I see their personalities. This is beginning to happen now, (scant) evidence of which can be found on Flickr.
Tuesday the 14th
They arrived around 8:30 in the evening. They came together in a carrier: one huddled in the corner, the other hidden under the cat bed put there to make them comfortable. We opened the door to the carrier and still they sat inside it, not sure whether to come out, not knowing where they were or what was next. When they did come out they dashed immediately for cover underneath the kitchen cabinets, where they stayed until I went to bed. I didn’t see them again, except as pairs of ears and eyes in the dark, for days.
Wednesday and Thursday
Their first few nights in the flat, they made an unholy racket. Every morning I got up and expected to see nothing but wreckage when I came out of the bedroom. Amazingly, though, their messes are confined to small corners, and they’ve not broken anything at all. Yet.
I woke to the sound of purring coming from under the bed. This made me grin like a fool even through my hangover – they’d settled in, they were happy. But still, I was the unknown quantity – yes, I supply food and clean litter, but was I just another temporary mama? They hadn’t quite worked it out yet.
They finally worked themselves up to playing with me. Still with a toy (fuzzy fabric on a stick) but they’ll pounce closer and closer. Now, when they come through the lounge while I’m on the sofa, they stop and watch me for a bit instead of dashing past, low to the ground, trying to be invisible. They’re still skittish when I get up and walk around, but they’ll stay and watch at least as often as they run for cover.
Tuesday the 21st
And then there was last night. I got home and, as usual, lifted the bedskirt to greet the girls. I talked to them for a minute or so and one started to purr. Then she came over and sniffed at my fingers. And then she came back and rubbed her face against my hand. Breakthrough! She still wouldn’t let me stroke her for very long, and she wasn’t keen on coming out from under the bed, but I’m being allowed to make physical contact. It’s only a matter of time before the three of us are curled up on the sofa watching old episodes of Buffy on DVD. Which will do me the world of good.