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The last of the pictures I took before the kittens moved down to the guest bedroom!

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Crooked little whiskers.

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It’s a rough life, is what it is.

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Darwin and Logie, hanging out in the wall basket.

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“Hi! HI!”

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Razzie checks out the window sill.

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Oh, the spotted little belly kills me DEAD.

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Three of the four (Darwin’s got a complaint).

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“STOP taking my picture, lady. I don’t LIKE IT.”

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Apparently the wall basket is perfectly sized for four kittens.

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Don’t they look comfy?

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“Is time to play?”

The kittens are doing just fine in the guest bedroom. They seem to get friendlier every time I walk into the room. Right now if I walk into the room, Logie and Darwin come running over to me. If one of them is up on the tree, they’ll howl at me while they figure out how to get down, as they jump down, as they run across the floor, and then as I pick them up. Logie will not only howl, she stands there and whips her tail back and forth. I’m trying to get video of it; it’s seriously cute.

Emmy is doing okay. She’s not doing much but sleeping and eating; we can’t get her interested in playing, and she still doesn’t want me to pet her (though she’ll let Fred). She’s going tomorrow to be spayed, and I’ll glad to get that over with.

At one point over the weekend, I was headed into the guest bedroom to check on the babies. Jake was hanging out right outside the door, and Fred said “You should let him in with them!” I opened the door and Jake shot through the door. All four kittens were coming toward the door, and the instant Jake saw them, he turned around and shot back through the door. Not in the mood to play with kittens, I guess!

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About Stinkerbelle.

Stinkerbelle turned five years old at the end of March.

Stinkerbelle came to us in the summer of 2007 with a sister and two brothers, and they were the most feral bunch of kittens we’d ever had. (Stinkerbelle’s original name was Maryanne – we went with kind of a Gilligan’s Island naming theme, except for the one who looked like Spanky who we named Spanky.) We tried all the usual tricks and I thought they were never going to come around, and then her sister (Tina Louise) decided we weren’t so bad. This litter went off to Petsmart one by one rather than all together – as they became friendly, we took them to Petsmart – and then eventually Stinkerbelle was the last one left here. Once her siblings were gone, she decided we weren’t so bad, and she became somewhat friendly.

One day Fred and I were in the foster room with Stinkerbelle and her siblings, and Tommy was sniffing around the door. Fred opened the door and let him in, and all four of those kittens reacted like a long-lost loved one had just entered the room. They all ran over to him and rubbed up against him, meowed as if to say “Where have you BEEN?” Stinkerbelle loved him most of all. She became friendlier – though still apt to snap at you if you petted her for too long – and the day came when I decided it was time for her to go off to Petsmart.

I dropped her off one evening, and it just so happened that I was scooping and cleaning cages at Petsmart the next morning. When I walked into the adoption center that morning, the newspaper by the door to her cage was shredded, and I told Fred that it looked like she’d spent the whole night digging to get out of her cage. Well, Fred hadn’t wanted her to go to Petsmart in the first place because he loved her beautiful blue eyes and silky fur and bratty personality. He started harassing me to go back and get her, and when I wouldn’t, he actually stopped on the way home from work and got her himself. The instant she heard his voice as he walked through the door to the adoption center, she started howling her head off and didn’t stop until he got home with her.

She started off life as a permanent resident somewhat friendly – she’d come into the living room with us while we were watching TV and would sit next to Fred so he’d pet her – but she wasn’t crazy about the other cats (except for Tommy) and when she realized she could get up on top of the kitchen cabinets, that became her favorite place to be.

She doesn’t spend ALL her time on top of the kitchen cabinets – she often comes down and meows at Fred or goes and snuggles with Tommy – but I’d say she spends about 75% of her time up there. She’ll let you pet her – and will even enjoy it – but when she’s done being petted, you had BETTER stop or she’ll smack you and draw blood.

I don’t honestly remember how her name came to be Stinkerbelle. We knew she wasn’t a Maryanne, so I think we were just throwing out random names and Fred suggested Stinkerbelle. I laughed, he laughed, and the name stuck. We tend to call her “Miss Stinky”, but I also call her “Dinky Doo” when I’m sweet-talking her.

I often tell Fred that both he and Tommy had better outlive Stinkerbelle, because if she gets sick, there’s no way on earth I’ll be able to get my hands on her. And if Tommy dies before Stinkerbelle, I do believe she’ll die of a broken heart.


2011: No entry.
2010: It’s a miracle!
2009: Bed capacity: holds four.
2008: These kittens are never going to open their eyes.
2007: The move went about as smoothly as a move can go.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.