They mostly grow on their own, but they do need a lot of food.
When you get a young kitten it is a delicate fragile ball of bravado. They walk around, with the tiny brush tails sticking straight up and act like NOTHING can hurt them.
But just picking them up makes you utterly aware of how they are just fragile bones covered in fur with a tiny buddha belly if they’ve been eating properly.
Then they grow. They stretch out in all directions and look mostly starved, like lanky teenagers often do. They hold onto that fragile feeling because all the major muscles that bind together cats and make them such tangibly tough animals haven’t quite caught up with the growth.
So you pick them up, expecting to hold something solid with weight and instead you get a floaty bundle of fur. Which sounds more romantic and relaxing than it is, because it’s actually a spastic floaty bundle and so you have try not to break the fragile spastic kitten that refuses to sit still while you hold it.
And then their muscles catch up. And one day you pick up a kitten, thinking it will be floaty fragile flotsam and it’s a solid chunk.
I love the solidity of cats. The fact that they can be given a good solid patting and it sort of rings on their body. And what is most fun is that cats seem to like a good solid patting. I call it banging on the kitty. I mostly do it on their back leg or their back. But it can’t be done to a fragile kitten.
Rebel Tim has just started to get his solid muscles. And so I gave him some bangs and he loved it. You would think cats would hate that sort of thing. But I’ve never had a cat that didn’t love it. Often it riles them up and they end up running around like maniacs. Unsurprisingly this is how it worked on Tim.
Tim is going to be one of those long lanky cats that are mostly just sleek fur over defined muscle, unlike Mrs. Fluffbutt, Her Highness Bijou. Who is mostly thick fluff pasted to muscle and a bit of rounding out fat. She is an exceptionally comfortable cat to hold as a result. Just soft in all the ways. Until she wants down. Which is mostly immediately because she doesn’t enjoy being held. She wants cuddles on her terms. But every evening she condescends to allowing me pick her up for a good hug. And doesn’t even complain.
There was a bird on a wire not to far from the window he was sitting in.
He was chattering because he was so excited to get at it.
He doesn’t know yet that proper hunters are SILENT. He is just a baby.
Plus he’s had a very exhausting morning. Much rushing about and jumping with many battles large and energetic. I don’t think such a tired Tim could maintain his self control to be silent even had someone taught him how to hunt quietly.
He just came over and plopped next to me into instant sleep. Also a kitten thing. 100 miles an hour one moment, dead asleep the next.
Like an idiot I bought a set of balls at the Dollar Tree with a bell inside them. They are hard plastic, so they make noise on hardwood floors, all on their own. But when you add the jingle bell inside, it’s annoying beyond comprehension.
I have taken them away and hidden them several times, but Tim is very good at hide and seek. I think I’m going to have to just throw them away.
I’m so cheap that it bothers me to throw away a $1 cat toy. Actually 50 cents. There were two balls in each package.
I need to just to it. I can’t get the bell out without ruining the toy. I had hoped at one point to do that. But it’s not possible without a great deal more effort than a 50 cent toy is worth.
WHY do cat toys have bells? It’s a terrible noise. Terrible.
Whenever I have more than one cat, I always end up with a favorite. It’s nearly always the one I’ve had longest. In fact, I think it ALWAYS is? I can’t think of an exception.
Anyway, despite only being with me a few months, Bijou, Her Calico Highness, is my favorite. And I feel really bad about it.
Because on all metrics except possibly pure beauty, Rebel Tim is probably more lovable. He’s never the one who growls or spits. Although to be fair, Bijou was universally cheerful and sweet until the arrival the Rebel Tim, so.
But I got Tim for Bijou. I feel like he belongs to her. I just take care of him for her, because she’s royalty and cannot be expected to manage his needs. What’s more, I’m pretty sure Her Calico Highness knows that Tim is hers. He is naturally oblivious. He just loves her. And me. Probably equally because he’s that sweet.
Anyway, it’s not like I don’t love Tim. But I have a preference for Her Calico Highness.
I am glad I never had kids. I imagine I would have had a favorite and that would be awful.
So anyway. This has been the confession of Sara, guilty cat lover.
My underwear has recently taken a dive in structural integrity. It’s old, but it has suddenly developed a lot of frayed threads and even holes.
This is distressing because these underwear, which I particularly like, are no longer made. Which is a thing in women’s fashion. Apparently, it’s IMPOSSIBLE to make the same thing for more than 5 years. Even if it’s just bland boring underwear. It’s illegal or something?
Anyway – this morning it has become clear: the death of my underwear is being pushed along by interactions with Rebel Tim, the kitten. Who at this moment is in a such a desperate tangle with a pair of underwear that I’m fairly sure I might have rescue him or, more probably, the underwear. Claws and teeth are not friends to old thin cotton.
I should get up and save that underwear, but honestly, he’s so adorable in his underwear wrap that it’s hard to get behind stopping the behavior. Which is ANOTHER problem with kittens.