Regular Kittens Are a Goddamned Terror
Our three other cats, who entered our lives between nine and twelve years ago, were all damaged goods when we got them. Oskar, Onion, and Lula were all rescues who'd either suffered abuse or were broken by nature, and none of them exhibited the behaviours of stereotypical kittenhood. They were, in order, anxious, slow, and murderous from the beginning. But our fourth, Augie? He's our first regular kitten, which means he's all sweet cuteness when it's least convenient to have a kitten sucking on one's eyelashes, and he's a goddamned terror just when even four hours of sleep would feel like a revelation.
This is Augie under the covers at 2:15 this morning:
I tried not to wish him a hasty death last night when he repeatedly raced between Aidan's and my bedside tables tossing books, lip balm, glasses, and Kindles on the floor. I did, though. I wanted him dead. In between crashes I imagined his delicious demise. I envisioned squashing his little orange body into the hardwood like a fat mosquito. I whisper-yelled AUGIE, COME HERE, I HAVE A FIRE YOU CAN DIE IN. I didn't have a fire he could die in, but I'm the one with the opposable thumbs and a lighter, dammit, and fire-making felt so very right.
But then Augie did that thing he does where he walks straight up the middle of me starting at my toes, flops down up near my neck, leans in, and starts sucking on my eyelashes. It is irritating as all hell, but it's also super endearing, because his little kitty love beams out of him while he makes these tiny, gross slurping noises. It's hard to completely reject this kind of earnest snuggling.
Kittens are honestly awful, though. They poop in your house, walk with their poop-burying feet on all your stuff, break your blinds/claw your curtains/puke on your laundry/pull the insoles out of your shoes/literally find knives to play with, and then they pick out their favourite bits of you to suck on, lick, bite, or knead with their baby needle teeth and claws. For whatever reason, you will find this deepens your love for them, even as you invite them to die in fires.
Because of Augie's shenanigans last night, we are existing on very little sleep now, and as much as it's not right for me to wish he were a damaged rescue like our other three, I'm wishing he were at least half as world-weary and prone to long, brooding reflections on his past trauma so we could make it through more than three hours of sleep at a time.
I think it's time to google "humane kitten ageing".
PS. You, among many others, are probably wondering why we don't just lock the cats out of our room at night. We tried that once. Onion spent five-and-a-half months keening outside our bedroom door before we finally gave up on having our own space at night. Onion says we must sleep under several cats or lose half our sleep, so we sleep under several cats. Maybe a private room is in Augie's future, though! Hmmm…
PPS. I'm not really going to try to prematurely age Augie. He is very well loved and kittens are one of my favourite things. I'm just tired, and Augie is very excited about all the things. He thinks earth is a very exciting place and wants to touch every last damn bit of it. And throw every last damn bit of it on the floor. And see what damn bits are under our blankets. And pull open my lips so he can smell my teeth.
I am publishing a post every day in November for NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month).