It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I, a firm "dog person" had agreed to take in a wee kitten that had been turned in at work. Alas, he was too ill and had to be put down. In the weeks we had him, however, my two children had become attached to him and losing him was hard.
Because of that, I decided to open our home up to a new wee one. So, I drove about 45 minutes to a home that had a plethora of kittens and set out to choose just one. And Earl joined our family.
The early days were full of 3am stealthy foot attacks, constant arm shredding and general low-level mayhem. I learned valuable lessons from Earl. I learned the value of stillness. That moving lumps in the bed usually mean pain. And finally, wearing socks to bed is better than dealing with pre-dawn toe gnawing sessions.
Fast forward a few weeks. The animal hospital where I work was having an open house and there were 4 wee ones needing homes. At least 2 were spoken for. But one wee fellow was placed in my arms and promptly "booped" my nose. He then fell asleep and it was over. I had lost. A new kitten was coming home with us. We called him Everdeen because of his catness.
It's been interesting to say the least. Earl was less than pleased and made his anger known. But after four or five days they got along and are rarely away from one another now. And now they plot together which makes things much more difficult.
I doubt there will be another (famous last words). I doubt my apartment can handle the mayhem.
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