Kittens

We lost "Happy," our seventeen and a half year old cat a few weeks ago. She had been my grandma's, and we had inherited her when she was twelve.

I think I have mentioned here about the British Royal Flying Corps having conducted experiments during the first Great War of 1914-1918. The command determined that squadron morale stayed better if losses were replaced immediately, rather than allowing extended periods of grieving over the pilots who were lost in combat. We kind of felt that way too. As much as we missed and grieved over Happy's passing, our house seemed empty with only one lonely kitty in it.

Hubby wanted to find a specifically marked cat. In his family there is a long tradition of black and white tuxedo cats with pink noses being named "Pinky." So we set out on an internet search for a perfectly marked tuxedo kitty. Since we still have the thirteen year old cat, the original thought was to find a calm adult tuxedo cat, but there were none to be found locally. There was, however, an absolutely adorable little three month old female at the local shelter, with the cutest little black smudge marking on the end of her nose. Dan held her and she purred on him, and instant bonding took place before my eyes.

The poor thing was in one of those awful cone-shaped collars to keep her from licking her spay-incision. And apparently she had developed an infection in the incision, and so they weren't releasing her yet. Frustrated, we went home without her. We called several times, but the answer was always that she was not available, and no one could say when she would be. Oh, how frustrating.

Then early last week we discovered a little tuxedo male at the shelter in Sedona. We drove over the mountain (over an hour on a very twisty scenic road) and adopted this absolutely beautiful classic tuxedo marked young male. Supposedly he is three months old, but I suspect he's a little older. He's remarkably calm and gentle for a kitten, already neutered, a perfect addition to our family. There was of course an initial period of growling and hissing, but Pinky and our old female were finally getting along.

And then I came home from the airport one day, and thought I was seeing double. There were TWO little black and white kitties on the rug. The local shelter had called to say the little female was now available. My hubby had gone immediately and adopted her! Silly man, I love him for his tenderness.

So now our home is filled with one sweet old cat and two kittens, who manage to make it seem like one sweet old cat and fifty kittens. They are everywhere, tussling with each other, prowling into spaces I would have thought too small to get into. They have claws, and we wear band-aids! The female, whom we call "Smudge" because of the small black spot on the end of her otherwise pink nose, is absolutely attached to Dan, and will be in his lap every chance she gets. She sleeps cuddled up to him at night, and he has to be careful to not roll over and squish her.

And I am so pleased to report that hubby is grinning and laughing once again. The misery of his colostomy, which we are praying is just weeks away from re-connection now, combined with sadness over the loss of Happy had had him in a pretty black mood for a while. It's amazing how effective a mood-medicine a dose of two kittens is!

Hugs,

Diane