lundi, décembre 03, 2007


On Halloween our family adopted a rescued kitten. For reasons that make almost no sense to me, this tuxedo cat, about nine months old, is called "Inky." As with most young cats, and many teenagers, it's all about Inky. So what if a glass dish gets pushed off the dining room table? Why'd you have it up on the table to begin with, Mom? Should I be petting our senior cat, all of about four years, Inky nudges her away-then adds insult to injury by chasing Precious all over the house.

If I'm at the computer, Inky jumps up and nips my fingers.

I put him down.

He jumps back up.

Possibly it's a game to him-although each time the nips become less gentle. To me, it's income.

I have to admit I get a certain charge out of seeing those tables turned when the kids come home.

They chase Inky up and down the house. They pick him up and kiss his nose. They built a fort
and don't let him escape until he is good and tired. Sian even has fun giving him a bath-there are few more pathetic sights than a wet kitten. If he happens to wander into the bathroom while she is taking a shower, she picks him up and deposits him right under the water with her.

At least the kids don't bite my fingers.

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