“No one gets out alive,” is a thought running through my head as I think about integrating our kittens into life as we know it. For a little background, we brought home two Bengal kittens—Phantom and Fred—a couple weeks ago. Together they make a whole lot of chaos. But did I mention our daughter’s cat, Shrimp, is still at home? It’s making for a crowded house, she tells me with her looks. I know, Shrimp, I hear you.
What’s funny is the smaller kitten, Phantom (black), is the bravest two-and-a-half-pounds I’ve ever seen. She runs up to Shrimp’s nose and just stands there as Shrimp runs away, not knowing what to make of her. Then Fred walks carefully over, a scaredy cat if there ever were one. But when he and Phantom get into it, his size is his advantage as they get tangled up like eels.
The other morning, while Your Survival Guy was sitting with them in their laundry room lair, reading my phone, I tried to unglue them from each other—tiny scratches on my hand to show for it. No big deal, they’re kittens, as I sucked the blood away. Then, later, while squeezing lemon into my water, my eyes watered from the pain like being tortured in Rambo.
Wait. What’s that sound, Shrimp? They’re up? No. I’m not ready, either. Let the morning activities begin.
