I’m sorry about the lack of regularity in these bulletins. Fact is, I am multitaskingly-challenged. (Ok, I can hear the voices: ”That’s because you’re a man!”)
Whenever I try to write something, it becomes obsolete in days.
Since I last wrote, the kitten portion of my life has taken over completely. Not that Tilde needs help (although she has nominated me Chief Babysitter) but the experience is just so amazing. I do not want to miss a minute. People who have children know the expression, ”They’re great at that age.” Around 2 - 3 years, new skills appearing all the time. Here the experience is condensed into weeks.
One day, I try to get them used to using the cat tray and they eat the kitty litter. Next day, they figure it out themselves. One day, I try to get them to eat their expensive designed-by-vets kitten food. No way. Next day, some fish drops on the floor and they growl at each other in the race to eat it. What they fall off one day they jump off the next, four-point landing.
I was wondering who would be the first out of the box. Suddenly the award included another title: First to fall off the sofa on to the floor. Tubby. Of course, I thought of putting the box on the floor, but Tilde did NOT like it. Box had to go back on the sofa, the birthplace and ancestral home.
Faced with a mass-breakout at 1 o’clock in the morning, something had to be done, and PDQ. Only one thing to do. With a plentiful supply of cardboard and Apollo 13 tape (duct/gaffa) a wall was built around all the places an unsuspecting kitten could fall and be eaten by dust-bunnies. Kind of like Berlin.
The design of, as it became known, Kitty City, was a mammoth undertaking, and future archaeologists will marvel at the ingenuity of its defences. A processional ramp was included, to ease progression from sofa to ground level, with chop-sticks taped to the surface in case kitten paws could not find enough grip. The city wall, thrown together as hastily as the rest, cordoned off one end of the living-room with amplifiers, Trivial Pursuit boxes and a crate of pieces of old Volvo.
Outside the city walls, lurking and sniffing and hissing at the kittens, was Pjevs. Ourselves, United Allies of Kitty City, had to keep a watchful eye on him. To begin with, he respected the boundary, but gave cause for concern. More of that later.
Anyhow, the descent ramp was one day a terrifying undertaking, and a few days later the scene for a bite-your-back-legs race. The sofa has been an excellent testing ground for claw technique, with impossible overhangs taken just for the hell of it. Cardboard walls do not a prison make, and these were climbed and, humiliatingly, chewed. Cardboard makes a satisfying popping sound when your milk teeth break through it, apparently.
The city walls were reinforced, but escapees became more and more common, and territorial conflicts with Pjevs loomed dark on the horizon.
Stage 2 of the occupation was initiated. The empire expanded to include the whole living room, with walls blocking the only two exits: the doorway to the kitchen and the doorway to the patio. The Big Black Bugger not well pleased. Massive rearmament on both sides created tension, diplomatic missions failed, and The Great Territorial War began. It was over in two days.
Nosing just too close to a kitten while Tilde, unseen, observed from the far side of the room, Pjevs got the shock of his life. She shot across the floor, screaming like a banshee, and sank teeth and claws into Pjevs’ ample corpus. At a third of his size and weight, Tilde chased the panic-stricken Pjevs out of the house, down the garden path, down the street, and was back inside checking on the kittens in a matter of seconds.
Only one or two more clashes were necessary before Pjevs began to run at the sight of a kitten (no exaggeration).
Military analysts have since used the Great Territorial War as a classic example of the ’right over might’ principle, and sum up the relevant advantages of the two sides as follows:
Pjevs:
1. Is big.
2. Is heavy.
3. Is strong.
4. Can make hamburger out of cats his size.
5. Has lived here for years.
6. Has a well-established claim to the territory.
Tilde:
1. Is a mother.
No contest. The once mighty king is banished to the kitchen, and if he dares show his furry face in the living room, he risks losing part of his tail.
Occupation Stage 3 followed shortly thereafter. The outer defences of the empire crumbled, and the inhabitants poured out onto the plains. All walls were pulled down, and with all objections to the hegemony of Tilde and her kittens swept before them, Pjevs was forced to retreat to the garden.
This last development happened today. It remains to be seen if the Meal-time Truce still applies. With all six in the same space, Pjevs could go hungry. Then if the garden is invaded.....
In a few weeks time, we will have to say goodbye to these little darlings. It is going to be incredibly tough, and we have made sure that they are going to friends who we can visit. But what will happen with the balance of power at home, when the reason for Tilde’s new-found status disappears? Stay tuned.
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I also would love to see pictures of Kitty City.
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