This blog could alternatively be titled “How to Piss off a Musician,” or, “Your Gateway to Marriage Counseling – In 4 Fuzzy Paw-printed Steps!”
Thankfully, no counseling was needed. But just barely. Because the you-know-what-almost hit the fan.
Last summer, Matt went out-of-town with his band, The Secret Post. They were gone for about a week. Which, while it sucked on my end, because I’m somewhat more co-dependant than I’d care to admit, a week isn’t long enough to get into too much trouble. Even bill or money wise. Right?
One morning, I get to my mom’s house, and notice that there’s a laundry basket full of blankets against the wall. I figure that one of my sister’s friends is doing their laundry here, so I roll my eyes a bit, but think nothing of it. For the first 30 minutes I’m over, my mom is giving me this Look.
There’s no real way to explain it other than that. You probably know what the Look is. It’s the look everyone flashes around when there’s a secret. Sonething is going on – perhaps something big — and you missed it. Too often, it’s something ridiculously obvious too. And yet, you still miss it.
Me, I’m blatantly oblivious. It took many Looks, mass amounts of giggling, and then some prompting to go investigate the seemingly harmless laundry basket.
Now, I understand the giggling.
Austin had found these kittens at his house, so he’d scooped them up, and was letting the kids take care of them. (Well, really just Treisha. Killian was at boy scout camp. Boy, did he come home to a shock!)
So we had these fuzzballs. Who were freakishly loud… and ate every few hours. We didn’t have kitten formula (later on that week, I got some. ) but we were mixing canned food with water, and dropper feeding it to them. Then there’s the potty business, but you don’t want to hear about that.
Their eyes were open, and they were little wigglers. They didn’t move around much yet… that one took a few days. The little black and white one , the biggest cat, got mobile first. The others followed suit, and gradually started playing a bit. They looked like drunken little cats, who weren’t used to their legs, but. All things considered, not bad!
Except, the runt.
He didn’t eat as much, he didn’t move around as much… and he was SO much quieter than the others. So of course, I got attached.
I started carrying him around, and making sure he was cared for (cuddled) properly.
Eventually the black and white one, who we dubbed Houdini for his escape artist abilities. got a home. Treisha and I , sick of calling the cats by color, decided to name them. We were fairly confident that we could name them, and not get attached.
And, we named
my the runt Chai.
Not long after that, my friend Alisha decided to adopt the above pictured girl cats, Mocha )now Marshmallow) and Macchiato. Meaning, that the little runt was the only one left!
Naturally, my family kept asking me when I was gong to take him home. Usually, while I was walking around with him. (Did you know you can cook meals, and use the bathroom without disturbing a sleeping kitten? It’s true!)
I scoffed at them, explaining that we already had two cats, and I wanted a bunny…. so there was NO WAY I could take this little one.
However, come Friday, I was going to be all alone for the weekend. As was the little kitten over at my brother’s house.
It seemed obvious. I’d take little guy home with me, and then on Monday, I’d take him back. All the while asking around to figure out who wanted a kitten.
Things were going great, for a bit. I’d given our two cats little mice as a peace offering… so I took a video of them playing with them… and the little guy screamed through the whole thing.
So I get this phone call from Matt. A not-as-livid-as-I-expected phone call. I explained what was going on, and he shook his head. (Well. I imagine he did. There was a sigh, and a few unsavory words….. you get the idea.
He’d stay with me for the weekend. Anything else, would be discussed when he got home. (God, that phrase sucked as a kid coming from parents, and it sucks coming from a husband now. Sheesh.)
Meanwhile, my cousin came over, and we went to get take out. Naturally, without a cat carrier, I had to carry the kitten with us. Which sparked lots of conversation. Now, a good portion of the staff at Baja Jacks would ask every time we came in, if Matt had decided if we could keep the kitty. (Muahahaha.)
Our cats? Not impressed.
But all things considered, the cats got along pretty well. For territorial, moody creatures, anyway.
Fast forward to the night that Matt got home from California. I’m excited. Chai is a ball of cute. Matt can’t hold out against it. I’m SURE that it’ll go well.
Not only does the cat scream and cry all night…. but he promptly steps in the bowl of wet food, spilling it over onto the floor. (And, subsequently, caused my bleached jeans nightmare. Stupid Resolve carpet cleaner. ) Matt was ready to toss the cat out the window, I’m fairly certain. It was NOT a good night. Not in the least.
Eventually, Matt said we could test it for a month. There were some heavy conditions, and if it didn’t work – it didn’t work. Nothing would convince him to keep it if it didn’t work.
So… a month came and went, and…. well…. I think this is an occasion where pictures speak louder and clearer than any words could.
And I have to share a few more, because I’m going through old pictures… and this is just ridiculous.
Cute, tiny adorable, and fairly sweet and quiet. What an adorable little — oh!
The kid’s a colossal mess. He has a security penguin, and he refuses to use a dirty litterbox. He also ate a hairtie once… and we’ll just say it didn’t go well.
He’s also a bully that beats up on the poor little black and white cat more than I care to admit. He’s also a pig, and eats everyone’s food.
But, he’s literally like a child. We don’t think he realizes he’s a cat. And even though we’re turning into crazy cat ladies , we couldn’t imagine NOT having the little fuzzball around. 🙂
And now I’ve written WAY more than I thought I’d ever write about a fuzzy cat, so I’m off to go nap. (We’re snowed in today. I’ve baked scones, drank coffee, blogged — now what will I do?!)