Life in the Fast Lane

Tiny round blanket, Too Many Kitties

All things kitty have been booming here at Casa Findingmoxie. But while we've been racking up the progress and celebrating our successes with cuddles, a sliver of sadness has wedged itself into my thoughts. In two weeks, I've got to give up my kittens to the CHAT shelter and that sadness is going to kick me in the pants. With a steel-toed boot. These little darlings have taken over my life (insert here, Mr Findingmoxie shaking his head in chagrin) and come that day there will be a seriously large kitten-pile-shaped hole in my life.

Atticus and Dill, getting Olympic fever.

 I've been imagining that in the moment I hand the kittens back, an alternative universe will open up in which I kept Atticus, Dill, Scout, Jem, Calpurnia and Boo Radley and we all lived happily ever after. Including Mr Findingmoxie. When times get hard, I'll go to that universe and wonder what that findingmoxie and her band (technically, a clowder) of wily kittens is getting up to. My official happy place. Maybe we'll have a cat plantation like Hemingway's in Key West. Maybe we'll be lying on marble tiles, cooling ourselves in that Greek taverna that we run. Maybe we'll be fighting crime and de-mousing cities.

On a side note, I now know what Papa Findingmoxie feels like when Mr Findingmoxie and I would visit and on the first day, he'd immediately fixate on our departure date and how sad he was going to be on that day. We'd tease him about it and he'd have to shake it off. I can see that I'm going to have to make an effort to savor kitten life and not angst before I need to--between this, my charm, and my sporadic compulsive cleaning urges, I don't think there's any chance that I'm not going to turn into Papa Findingmoxie. But that's an issue for another day. Obviously.

After many kamikaze missions to get my feather quill down, we have a tussle for it.

But back to the kittens and their shenanigans. This week, another friend-lleague, Shona, brought her little boys for a play-date. Frankly, I was a wee bit apprehensive given the shelter has marked the kittens for an adult only home. Let's face it, although the kittens and Shona's boys were roughly the same age, neither kittens nor kids play nice--never mind the twain meeting. I needn't have worried because Shona and her boys brought my lot a new set of toys: fish on a stick! And who doesn't love a new toy? Scout and Jem chased the fish, Boo Radley consented to watch for a bit before retiring under the sofa, Dill and Cal ran in and out of play, and Atticus gingerly sat on the other side of the room. Scout, cajoled with more playing, sat on laps and even vogued for a photo. Visit accomplished!

Scout, who likes to sleep face down.

How do you ask is Scout on laps? Well, given that Scout loves to play and chase, he would get so worked up in games that my legs were starting to look like I'd climbed my way out of a rocky ravine wearing hot pants, while menaced by tiny tigers. Mr Findingmoxie was not liking my new look and on a whim, I used a towel as protective kevlar. It worked a treat! For my legs and also for their confidence. Hiding my body under the towel gave the kittens license to ignore reality; no legs belonging to big people here! After all, it was just this fuzzy towel on which they liked chewing, playing and eventually, napping. While it began with playing, Scout, Cal, Dill and even Jem would pause on my lap sometimes, taking a breather and I would stroke them gently. I'd usually get a few minutes before they'd see something cooler to do and be off like the wind to destroy our lounge. But without even trying, things started to get adorable. I know, I've got six kittens, how much more adorable could it be?

Scout, my little puppy.

Well, here's the thing. Jem, the black male, LOVES mealtimes and oh, not in the way Dill loves mealtimes. Dill will shove any other kitten under a bus if that kitten stood between Dill and a bowl of deliciousness. Actually, doesn't even need to be a bowl. I've been feeding them chicken out of my hand and Dill will latch onto my finger with her claws, licking the chicken off while simultaneously, hissing a back off warning to the other kittens. If eating off the kitchen floor, in the case of an accidental chicken drop, she will hunch over it, stick her paw out on either sides as a 'You Shall Not Pass!' to the others. She's like the Godfather of food: sweet and charming for the most part, but will not hesitate to end you if  you cross her in food.

Jem, however, experiences pure bliss at mealtimes. Food makes him so happy that he purrs like a giant motor (yes, it is that loud). Now, I still sit with them while they eat, handling them and petting them so they remember the good times rather than the hands that shove them back into the pen or make them take medicine. Anyway, couple of days ago, Jem turns to me, squints up in pure bliss and steps onto my crossed ankles. I rub his face a bit and he inches up higher on my legs. I didn't want to spook him, but I couldn't let the opportunity slide, so I picked him up into my lap. And waited.

Besties, Me and Scout

He stayed. He turned around and tried to sit down, but have you ever noticed how human laps are so slippery and all the wrong angles if you're a tiny kitten? He just couldn't stay in place and risking it, I grabbed him and the towel and placed both over my lap.  Jem now had purchase on my legs and could have his face rubbed all at once. He purred himself to sleep: full on kitty sleep-coma. There I was, trapped under my first sleeping kitty and no one there to see it. And boy, was my camera a serious reach away. Just then, Scout jumped up to see what was going on. He settled in. I hardly dared to breathe! I couldn't take it anymore. I shifted softly, reached and reached, and just about got hold of the camera (thank you, yoga, great for sticky dress zippers and contorting without waking cats). I straightened and looked back to see if I'd disrupted the sleeping kittens. There's Atticus staring back at me.

From L-R, Me, Scout, Jem and Atticus

Okay, I geeked out a little. On the inside. Quietly. There were three kittens on me. It was official: kitten pile had begun. It was AH-MAZING. So, that's how we conclude our morning and afternoon meals everyday now and it's really lovely. Although, I do need to start putting camera, reading material, phone, beverage and remote control all within easy reaching distance of the sofa. Otherwise, I am trapped for an hour of nap-time for kittens, but wool-gathering for findingmoxie.

We've been living in our flat for nearly three years now and it's taken the kittens to show us how absolutely impeccable we've kept this place. Seriously, it's like a show flat. Or as Mr Findingmoxie says, it was. Three years of hard wear by us and the sofa looked brand new. Four weeks of kitty hijinks and the sofa is looking a wee bit tired. But, as I reckon, it'll look like people actually lived here when we leave. The kittens in their exploration of the kitchen and all its heights and nooks (see photo of kitten tower) have also discovered that the skirting under our kitchen cupboards isn't so much solidly attached, but basically propped up. Really. Can you believe it? It takes one kitten eye for spatial dimensions (or maybe six on committee), one judicious placement of the paw and the skirting opens sesame, flat onto the floor--silently no less. I walk into the kitchen for a drink and nearly lost it, thinking, how on EARTH will I explain this one to Mr Findingmoxie?! After wrastling six kittens out from underneath the cupboards, I took a closer look at the mechanisms and guess what? There are none. It just stands up. Huh. That's what I'd call cutting corners, landlord.

Conclusion: 

These kittens will be lap-cats yet if I have anything to say about it. In fashion news, kittens do not understand long skirts and are inclined to view them with great suspicion. Fringe boots, however, are a different kettle of fish. All feline eyes were on my feet watching the fringe swish. Not to be worn for extended kitten play, unless you don’t mind an ambush. Or being watched with barbecue eyes.

Boo Radley, the Big Buddha

Next up: nicknames and power plays!