Lulu has learned, in no particular order, to:
Not hiss at my toy hippie van
To play with a ball
To climb the scratching post and perch atop it
To bite us until we yell and then kiss us profusely followed by more biting
To jump out of a large plastic container, like the ones you use to store your Christmas decorations,
This last was only two days after we got her. At first she couldn’t jump out of a five inch deep litter pan. Now she jumps off our bed (which is high)
To not meow before taking a big leap
To climb to the top shelf of the closet (God knows how) and sit there quietly while we panic trying to find her
To run around like a nut in the shower stall and act trapped even though the slider is open
To eat only baby kibble (no more baby pablum – KMR)
To play with other toys including Robespierre, the sock monkey hand puppet with the knit hat and pom pom, but she likes his scarf more than him
She still hops and runs sideways
She has not plowed herself across the floor in more than a week (this with her front legs down and her back end up just plowing her upper body and head across the floor
More importantly she has hypnotized us. I think about how I wish I could enjoy life like her, how I could experience everything like her, how I could just purr and fall asleep and be perfectly contented because my belly is full, and I am sitting warm and dry in front of a fire. Who am I kidding – that is me.
She controls us. We creep around in the morning trying not to wake her and I have taken to getting ready in the spare bathroom so as not to disturb her. During Christmas vacation we took turns going to the gym.
She makes us laugh. She rushes out from under the bed charging the invisible enemy only to immediately retreat by running backwards when the apparition threatens her in return.
She was not able to handle the toy with the feathers. She climbed backwards up the back of the sofa hissing with all of her fur standing up the first time she saw it. She seemed to think it was an extension of me and it took all I had to get a hold of her and calm her down. Her little heart was yammering so.
And now we are considering getting another one. Seriously. We may go back Saturday and adopt one of her remaining three sisters. The logic is this: We wanted Percy, our ten-year-old cat, to take to her. Percy is not and has never been a wildly affectionate cat or open to other cats or even especially playful. However we believed she would begrudgingly tolerate a kitten if not occasionally cuddle and or play with her at a favorite game. So far no progress. Zilch. Nada. Sometimes we think she is getting better but her hisses and growls seem to grow angrier and she has begun growling through closed doors at the little one. Now we feel that they shouldn’t both live in solitary and that if we get a sibling at least Lulu will have a playmate. Meanwhile we pray Percy won’t take some type of psychological break.
Some people say it was selfish to get a kitten and it was because we had grown bored of the old cat. Maybe that’s true and maybe it isn’t but as a woman dealing with displaced maternal instinct I would have to question if that weren’t true of people who have kids as well. Don’t they want another baby because it’s a baby and completely dependent on them and good and pure? Few, if any say, “Hey I want an eleven-year old. Someone who will back talk me and not appreciate me and basically look at me like, ‘Go to hell,’ Yeah that’s what I want.” And most want their own. They don’t want to rescue a child from an orphanage, they want to bring one more creature into this world because the egocentric bastards want to see themselves in the children – their physical features, their mannerisms, their temperaments. I may be a selfish kitten “mother” but at least I admit it.