Peevish Pen

Ruminations on reading, writing, genealogy and family history, rural living, retirement, aging—and sometimes cats.

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Location: Rural Virginia, United States

I'm an elderly retired teacher who writes. Among my books are Ferradiddledumday (Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story), Stuck (middle grade paranormal novel), Patches on the Same Quilt (novel set in Franklin County, VA), Them That Go (an Appalachian novel), Miracle of the Concrete Jesus & Other Stories, and several Kindle ebooks.

Monday, June 10, 2019

Kittens of Mass Destruction

On June 10, 2018—during a heavy rainstorm—I heard a cat screaming on the front porch. Thinking it was one of the regulars, I went to the door and called. No one came, but the screaming continued. I looked under a chair and found a sopping-wet gray and white kitten. He was so small he fit into my hand. I brought him in and dried him. That's how Otis joined our  household.


Two days later, my husband heard something crying near his shop. I went out, plucked another gray and white kitten from behind a tractor tire, and brought her inside  Otis was overjoyed to see her, and she was overjoyed to see him. So that's how we got Charlotte. 

The two were inseparable. They played hard and were the most destructive kittens I ever raised. Climbing the curtain is a favorite activity. 


They're also fond of climbing bookcases . . .


. . . because they're so much fun to jump from, as Charlotte demonstrates.


Otis has liked string ever since he was little and has amassed quite a collection.


His current favorite string is the drawstring from a pair of sweat pants. Maybe he likes it because it's the same color he is.


He usually carries it around and keeps it near.

 

One of Otis's favorite things to do with his string is the run around the kitchen table with it.


We weren't sure which kitty kept taking the sink strainer from the kitchen sink, but we knew it wasn't 20-year-old Camilla at the door. Or Arlo, who is leaving the scene.  Only Otis seemed to be staring at it with interest. 


When we found it had been moved near Otis's string, we had a good idea who the culprit was.


A cat treat bag was taken from upstairs and carried to the downstairs den—a place which Otis and Charlotte have claimed as their abode. The bag was ripped open and all treats were consumed. I blame Charlotte for this one. I've caught her trying to open treat bags before.


When we rearranged some furniture, we found three more cat treat bags under the sofa. One had been ripped apart and emptied; the other two had been clawed and bitten but the treats were still inside. 

They also ripped the stuffing out of a cat bed. When we saw the mess, we at first thought they'd killed something.


Tanner insisted he had nothing to do with it.



Arlo insisted he had nothing to do with it, either.


A box of papers I'd taken downstairs to store in a closet was pushed over and the papers scattered. 


Perhaps they wanted the box for themselves. They're big cats now. And they love boxes whether they fit in them or not. 


Hard to believe they've been here a year already.
~

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