We have a kitten too now. It is an orange tabby, and it is a month or two old. The first thing it did when Mark brought it home in a box was to pee on the living room floor. Watson has desperately tried to get close to the box we keep the kitten in to have a look.
The “take home stray pets because he’s a big old softie” has been kept to a minimum over the nearly two years we’ve been together. Once he brought home two budgies, and they weren’t really that bothersome. They spent their time in the cage and happily chirruped behind me here in the office.
The kitten, however, is more mobile – and with two dogs in the house I’m keeping a constant watch so that there won’t be any clawed noses, or dead kittens.
Of course, Mark claims it is not a problem because his mum used to bring home animals from the shelter all the time. However, as I pointed out to him, these dogs haven’t lived with his mother for nearly two years, and neither has he. Which means he should know what I think about living in the typical menagerie of assorted animals that shelter volunteers usually end up having.
On the other hand, I’m not too cross with him because the kitten is so cute, and I’ve been playing the laser pointer game with her, and she goes flipping insane as soon as the dot appear somewhere. That cat can jump to the ceiling trying to catch the dot. It’s fun.
This morning, well twenty minutes ago since it is still very early in the morning, I went to get my morning tea. Something furry moved against my legs, and needle sharp little teeth punctured my toes. I nearly screamed and threw the kettle at my attacker, before I remembered we have a cat now. A temporary cat. I’ll tell myself that.
Anyway, since Watson hasn’t eaten the cat yet, and Lady is impeccably disinterested in the house guest, we’re going to head into London. Auntie is coming over to fetch the dogs, and the cat will be put with food and water in the cellar downstairs.
We will not be back until late this evening because we’re doing two things in London. First we’re going to the British Museum, again, to have a look at the exhibition about Pompeii and Herculaneum. Second, we’re going to West End to see the show War Horse.
This was, thus, not the best time to bring a non-house-broken stray kitten home. I shall have words with the love of my life as we drive into the Big City. Yes. I’ll give him a big hug for being such a romantic softie that can’t pass a stray cat without adopting it. Then I’ll have words.