One weekend about four and a half weeks ago I was walking home, and I noticed a small black kitten lurking in the bushes of a derelict house around the corner. It was obviously very young, and I figured that it had wandered away from its nearby mother and was poking around (as kittens are wont to do). So I went on my way.
That night, there was the sound of plaintive meowing coming from the front porch. The landlady went to investigate, and came back in with a little squeaky purring bundle of black fluff. The kitten had come to visit.
The next morning I walked around outside of the derelict house where I first saw it, looking for any sign of a mother cat having made its lair there. There was no sign of any feline residence, and plenty of sign of there not being one. So next came a questioning of the people who live in the neighbourhood to see if anybody was missing a little black kitten. Nobody admitted to such a condition.
The landlady was firmly against any notion of taking the kitten to an animal shelter; being a cute and tiny little kitten, it would be almost certain to be adopted. . .but she was worried that it might be adopted by some weirdos who would want a black cat for their black magic rituals (or some other nefarious purpose). So the kitten was to stay with us until we could find a reputable person to adopt it.
The little beastie was in good condition, with its fur well groomed and no signs of any sores or injuries. It did have fleas, and lots of dirt under its fur. It had apparently only just been weaned a meal or two earlier, as it was still a bit puzzled by solid food; when given some kitten kibble that I ran to the store and bought for it, it first tried sucking on them before remembering to pick them up and chew them.
Since then, the critter has gone to the vet for a general check-up and to be given anti-flea and anti-worm (just in case) treatment. While there, it was determined that he was a he.
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The creature exploring his new residence the first night:
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Right from the beginning, he was not shy at all about being close to people:
Game Master Kitten* * * * * * * * * *
He does often make such routine matters as walking across a room
a bit more challenging.
And at times he just gets, as Smerk put it, downright "
spacky". All
over the place.
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Nor was he shy about getting into places where he shouldn't get into. . .
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Abby and Marshmallow were both totally horrified. Marshmallow reacted with such panic that she spent most of about a week outside, only dashing indoors for a few moments to feed. Abby took things a bit more calmly, perhaps because she has the memory of putting up with when Marshmallow the kitten was first introduced to the house. Abby just sort of kept her distance and eyed the kitten with disgust, growling whenever the little fluffy monster got too close:
Marshmallow has since become a bit more mellow. At least, she'll allow the kitten to be in the same room as her, as long as he doesn't approach her or look at her or breathe or squeak or anything.
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He also enjoys finger food.
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For the first couple of weeks, the beast was too small and uncoordinated to manage to get up onto the furniture. So Abby and Marshmallow and I could find refuge from his constant pouncing and leaping and nibbling by getting up into a tall chair, or better yet climbing onto a bed. It wasn't long, however, before he managed to work out ways of getting onto beds, and then nobody was safe any longer. He seems to have a fondness for getting onto beds, too, and then of going completely nuts.
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Oh, and he is also an interdimensional traveler. If you look closely at him, you can sometimes see him phasing out of this universe and into another:
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He also has a "thing" about socks. Yes, this kitten has a footwear fetish.
Socks!* * * * * * * * * *
He has also more-or-less mastered the art of
using the stairs.
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There are, however, very very very rare instances when the kitten is actually
not being a completely psycho bundle of pure fuzzy energy. Here is photographic evidence of this state of being:
