Friday afternoon I was sitting in the living room watching Lost when the phone rang. The manager of the no-kill cat shelter I volunteer for was calling.
“Want some kittens?” she asked.
“You know I do! When can I come get them?”
So I got up and got me some kittens.
They’re named, in case it’s not apparent (or you’re not a fan) after the women of Arrested Development. They’re about three months old, and they were just spayed Thursday (I think). The first day we had them, all they did was sleep. And sleep. And sleep some more. If I went in and picked one of them up, they’d let me snuggle them, but they weren’t into it.
Then yesterday morning I went in, and they got up and played. And chased each other around. And came over to sniff me.
They are seriously cute and sweet. I don’t expect them to be around very long; since they’ve been spayed and they’re all healthy, we’re just waiting for room to open up at the pet store.
Lindsay, the friendly one. You pick her up, and she starts purring very loudly. Actually, you don’t even need to pick her up, you can just talk to her, and she purrs and purrs. She’d let you hold her all day long and pet her if you wanted.
Maeby, the semi-friendly one. She won’t come looking for love, but if you pick her up and pet her, she’ll put up with it for a little while before she remembers she’s got somewhere else to be. She’s the most playful of the three, though she’s not impressed with catnip (none of them are).
Lucille, the least friendly of the three. She’d rather you not pick her up, please. Also, she doesn’t want to play. She’s suspicious of your intentions. Why do you keep looking at her? Oh, OKAY, if you must pick her up she’ll stay in your arms for a long 30 seconds before she runs off. It’ll take a little while to make friends with her, but I suspect that once she’s your friend, she’s your friend forEVER.
Lindsay and Lucille, snuggling in the sun.
Maeby would like to nap, please.
The permanent cat residents of the house are not impressed with the new additions, especially since that means they can’t hang out in the foster kitten room anymore. Maxi was so eager to get in the foster kitten room that I let her in for a minute to see what would happen. Would she be all “Oh! Bebbeh kittehs! I love!” and begin grooming them?
Not so much. Instead, she sniffed noses with one of them, and then hissed and would have gone so far as to start smacking, but I picked her up and put her out of the room. The kittens responded by puffing up and walking slowly around the room.
Maxi, apparently, is not the new goodwill ambassador to the kittens.
Give Maxi sunshine and concrete, and she’s a happy, happy kitty.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.