Thursday, November 13, 2014

A Visitor Lends a Hand – But Isn't Very Helpful

I knew this would happen. It was almost inevitable. No. Strike the "almost." It was inevitable.

Max takes guitar lessons at the Guitar Center. Tori takes him most weeks, because I usually work the copy editing shift Wednesday night.

While she waits for him, she volunteer at the nearby pet adoption center, spending an hour cleaning cat boxes and playing with the kittens. (I just heard the "click" where you put two and two together and came up with "kitten.")

Tori and Max came home Saturday with a tiny kitten, maybe six ounces of orange fluff and dryer lint.

"She's not staying," Tori said solemnly. "We're fostering her. She's sick and can't be with the other kittens. It was either bring her home, or the four healthy ones." Although Tori immediately named her, Jane Austen, so we'll see how long "temporary" is.

She had an eye infection. (Jane Austen, not Tori, although Tori coincidentally does have an ear infection, completely unrelated but there you go.) The center gave Tori an antibiotic to give the cat and it's working. Tori says we have to get Jane Austen's weight up to two pounds before she can be adopted. Just guessing, I'd say she's five, maybe six weeks old at most.

Apparently she was found alone on a path in the swamp. Either mom was feral and had a litter in the outdoors, and this one got separated, or someone just dumped her.

Saturday, her first day with us, she was kind of terrified. Spent most of the day and all night under the reclining chair. (Which was a bummer, since we were afraid to sit on it. It rocks, and we didn't want to squish her.)

By Sunday she was feeling more comfortable and roaming around the house. She has now taken to sleeping in the middle of the couch. In fact, she already sort of owns the couch. She's nine inches long at most and manages to take up the entire thing. She's got the run of the place now.

During the weekdays, I'm the only one up and about during the school/work hours, so she focuses all her attention on me.

Look, I'm not a cat person, but I won't pretend she's not cute. I can spend an hour just tossing crumpled up paper wads and watching her bat them around the floor. And she follows me around from the desk to the kitchen to the laundry room and back all day long.

But she's not very helpful. I know, I'm asking a lot for an animal that young to actually be helpful, but still. Starting Monday, she was a) confident enough to go anywhere and b) comfortable enough with me to want my attention. So as I tried to work at the computer, she kept climbing from the couch to the end table to my lap, then up onto the keyboard.

I know there's nothing new about that. The Internet is littered (see what I did there?) with pictures and video of cats on keyboards. It's a first for me. Our last cat, the only one we had in the family for any length of time, wasn't a cuddler. Roger Cow (the kids named him) had a very clear delineation of duties. He was king of the neighborhood, in charge of keeping other cats, dogs, raccoons and other critters out of our yard. I was in charge of everything else.

But Jane Austen has spent the last three mornings climbing up onto the keyboard. She either types, throwing all kinds of windows and dialogue boxes up on the screen as she strolls across the keys, or sits in the middle and grooms herself, as if to say, "I'm taking care of business. You can enjoy looking at me while I work."

Needless to say, it cuts my productivity down.

She's asleep right now, stretching out and somehow filling the couch with her tiny body, so I can actually type something. But I don't have much time and I've got a lot of work to do, so I'll cut this short.

I'll leave the last words to her. Below is what she typed yesterday while I was trying to finish the last work on "Scurvy Dogs." I think I'll call it "Scurvy Kitten."

k-7= ∫˙vxcccccccv222xzv bfh4reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee3rtut r7w7zzsssssssssssssssssssssssssss7ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss75e7su7e7eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssseeseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeseessssssssssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezz7zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz77737eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwxq8 88ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccdcd8juuuuudd8ccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc mb;;;;;;;;nnnnmjd 34mq tuidkeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedm kg, 50

,EWTE RU6 YW3FR000R0V5000YYYYYYGGGGGYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYP8B,,IPI7;][;]IPHccccc ddcddcccccccccccccccccdddd8ccuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu6zxhfsbvcv6u2aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccvh

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

You're doomed. :-)