Friday, June 28, 2013


So, it seems that you all like stories about kittens better than some old memories. 'K!

     So, coming back to the story about the kitten plague. Giving the kittens back to their mother didn't work. We ended up with the little rascals back in Sonny's room, and the mother-cat started coming every night to our window to call her babies again. We felt sorry for her, and the lack of sleep was getting hard on my husband. 
     The new plan was, to try and give back just one kitten, with the logic that it will be easier for her to take care of just one, and, maybe, the cat will think that its enough and stop coming for the rest of her children. We chose Miss Whiny and saw her and her mother's reunion out of the bedroom window. The plan worked, the nightly mewling sessions stopped. Even now, two years later, we, sometimes, see Miss Whiny, small and thin for her age, slinking around the neighborhood, furtively looking at our house. I hope, she has some good memories of her time here.
     The kittens grew up a little. We brought them to the SPCA, but they only had room for three of them. Anyway, that was the official story. In fact, Hanah, who was still in the Art Camp, begged us to keep two kitties until she comes home. 
     It was an agonizing choice: which of the furry cuties to keep. Finally, we settled on a boy and a girl cats. He was tawny, with blue eyes, pretty as a picture. She was scrawnier, patchwork colored, with pink nose and paw-pads. We called a boy Cuga (like, Gangsta!), and the girl - Zuzu. Remember It's a Wonderful Life? James Stewart's daughter's name was Zuzu.
     Cuga and Zuzu were great! They were brave; Cuga, obviously, attempting to find a male role model,  always tried to get closer to Chickie. Our cat, like an grumpy old uncle, would tolerate Cuga's presense for a while, then he'd plop him on the head with a massive paw. We still have the video of the kittens roughhousing: Cuga stalking and then jumping on top of Zuzu, and them rolling around, chewing on each other. 
     Their appetite grew with them. I was scared to eat anything with them around. They would claw their way up my body, towards my head and take food out of my mouth, if I didn't give it up voluntarily. I called them 'piranhas'.


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