My survival is in question. Honestly. And I have engineered my own demise which makes it all the more tragic. I knew it would be difficult, knew that there would be issues but Geez! I had truly forgotten what a pain in the ass a fucking kitten could be! She’s a nightmare! And I freely and willingly went along with the acquisition of the feline in question. Wouldn’t Freud have something to say about this? Isn’t this sort of like volunteering for the Spanish Inquisition?
She’s a good girl really, but she’s so busy! I just get her out of trouble in one spot as she’s galloping to the next spot. Pet Smart and Petland have both vomited all over the house; there are so many damned toys it’s like a mine field. Bells, rattles, catnip, fishing poles, treat puzzle, ball puzzle and a Kitty Whack-A-Mole…..how many toys does it take to entertain one kitten? In desperation I am throwing anything and everything on the floor (toothpaste box, pen, an extra-large paperclip, shopping bag, toilet paper roll, an empty medication bottle, shoe laces, etc.) hoping that something will hold her attention for more than 16 fucking seconds.
My right leg belongs on a torture victim. Lacerations of varying degrees of healing speckle it from ankle to upper thigh; my hands and chest look almost as bad. We’ve trimmed the claws but she still manages to inflict lethal injuries.
I am considering calling 911:
Us: “Our kitten has us trapped in the bathroom. Please help! The back door is open, follow the blood trail!”
911 Operator: Your kitten?
Us: Yes! Our kitten! Don’t be judgey or I’ll leave her in your car!
911: What does your kitten look like?
Us: She’s black, has a pink collar, is about the size of a pound of butter and her claws are at least 6 inches long.
911: Are you injured?
Us: YES!! We are bleeding to death. The Viking is curled in the shower trying to staunch the blood flowing from his femoral artery. My Jugular has been sliced and I’m feeling weak even as we speak! Tell EMS to bring lots of transfusion stuff.
911: Can the kitten reach you right now?
Us: No, but her paw is pushed under the door and she’s slapping the inside of it. I would guess the door will only hold for about 3 minutes. Please hurry!
And blood loss isn’t the only thing threatening my survival. My eyes are puffy, my nose is so plugged that I have to chew with my mouth open or I’ll suffocate before I can swallow. I took a Reactin which turned out to be a joke. So I have doubled the dose and now I can’t operate heavy equipment or a food processor.
A guy came to the door yesterday afternoon and apologized for waking me up. “What?! Waking me? We have a kitten in the house and no one has slept for 2 weeks. What do you want? Can I talk you into a free kitten? I’ll even throw in the litter box, food and a truck load of useless fucking toys.” The Viking, when I told him about the incident, said, “Your eyes do look like you’ve just crawled out of bed.” I gave him a snotty look and walked away.
And it’s just my luck that the only place Izzie likes to nap is right underneath my chin. I would think that the constant stream of snot and tears would make me a less than desirable sleeping spot but so far she seems unfazed. I can only assume, at this point, that her’s is a two-pronged attack; a combination of physical and biological warfare. Genius really, if you think about it.
If you haven’t heard from me in three days…..send help.
Survival
Ha ha ha…I busted a gut at the killer kitten…lol…I have one of those, although he’s a year now, my floor looks just like yours and my wounds are still visible….lol
I don’t remember my old cat being such a handful when she was a baby. Maybe it was because my kids were young enough I could hold them between me and the cat – like a human shield. I should check to see if one of them wants to move back home for a while. :o)