Day 5--It's All About KTL

Well, it's been a busy few days, what with the 4th of July, my social obligations (relax, I'm not quite chairing any charity committees or lunching--that always gets a laugh out of Mr Findingmoxie too, like it's too grand a title for my sort of hanging out. Pfft, I say) and my kitten fostering. 

The kittens are coming along swimmingly. I won't lie; we had moments of despair, when it felt like they'd always cower and I'd always be this giant ogre terrorizing their pen. But once I started Kitty Tough Love, it sort of all fell into place. I'll probably always be a giant ogre, but we're making inroads on cowering. What, you ask, is KTL? It's very simple. Encourage them to see me as the FOOD. Remember when we started and I wanted them to see me as more than a food dispenser? Well, I think that's where I went wrong the first few days. I was fixating on cuddles, before I'd trained them behaviorally. Food is the incentive and while it seems like a cheap gimmick, it is the ground level to that ivory tower of love and cuddles that I want so badly.

So every time I feed them, I sit there and watch them eat, stroke them while they eat and once they walk away from the bowls, I remove the food and walk away. Even if they haven't finished their allotted portion. That's the plan. And boy, is it HARD. I don't like the idea of them being hungry and sometimes I cheat and leave dry food. But, KTL has results. Good, solid results. 

The first morning was a revelation. I woke up ridiculously early and came to feed them out of guilt. I was prepared for upturned noses and cold shoulders. There was the usual reserve as I sat before their pen. However, when they saw their bowls, they began to inch forward and when I was scooping food, they just sat in front of me, shifting their weight nervously--eyes only for FOOD. So far, so good, I thought. I placed the bowls before them and then, it was simply magical. All six kittens began purring. It was like a chorus of warm deep purring. Apparently, I'm a sap, but I nearly cried, kids. It was that beautiful. Ahem. Anyway, and what's more, they allowed me to stroke them while they ate. Even the tragically shy black kitties. Even Boo Radley, who never takes his eyes off me, the suspicious cutie, dipped his head and ate unconcernedly. 

Hell's bells, we're getting somewhere! And from there, it's gotten easier to handle them. I've stroked them all and they're actually coming to like it. I have caught Scout, Dill and Atticus leaning into it actually, the little softies. Calpurnia and Jem did not like it at first and only would allow it on their backs, but today, I've managed some cheek scratching and their eyes closed. I won't say in pleasure, but certainly in a tiny sliver of trust. 

Scout is a crazy little bundle of energy, who will play with string or feathers UNTO DEATH. There is no nap-time if there are toys that need battering. I reckon if I left the toys in, he'd NEVER sleep. See? He is always the last to give in to sleepies.

Nap-time, except of course, for Scout the Curious

Scout, in a stringed frenzy.

This morning I put on some Bob Dylan (mostly because they're watching a lot of violent crime shows on telly and they could probably use some soft folk influence in their music) and Scout just went nutballs. I mean, he was tearing at his string one second, the next second he was tearing across the pen to rugby tackle Atticus, then he'd drop Atticus, turn, grab their pillow and kick it angrily, and REPEAT. So, I don't think Bob Dylan is going to calm them. I managed to get some video of his antics set to 'Mr Tamborine Man,' which I'll post shortly. It's like I was playing some death metal or something. That's a firm NO to Bob Dylan, then.

Dill, however, is just a tiny ball of sweetness. He's the smallest and when I stroke down his back, his little backside just rises into the air and he's on tiptoes. Très adorable. And he just loves a neck scratch, but does tend to come out of it confused and slightly startled that it was a human hand! I think they are surprised that we, humans, can be good for affection. 

Oh, but the fighting. It's WWF wrestling most of the time, with kicking, scratching, tackling (from heights!). Besides being a sap, I'm a bit squeamish about fighting, especially when Atticus and Dill give this tiny whine when they've had enough. I know I should leave them be, but I end up nagging them like they're a bunch of toddlers. 'Don't kick your brother in the face' or 'brothers who love each other don't make each other cry!' Eh, it's exhausting and cutting into my evening TV viewing. I try to think of the afternoons when they're all smushed together taking a siesta. Those are some good times. 

Let's all pile into the tiny tray.

And cue, flopping over into sleep.

Conclusions: the kittens behave well in front of company (they get that from me and my people, Ayroms are renowned for hospitality) and seem to enjoy playing with strangers. Also, they find celery disturbing. Too crunchy, their little startled faces say. Yoga antics, they're used to now. Don't even care when I master the headstand. Where's my applause, kitties?