I’m not sure what came over me.
Maybe it’s the realization that I’m in my 50’s and I’ve got babies on the brain. Or maybe more accurately, the lack of babies (#4, chill- this ain’t about you, it’s about me).
In May, I adopted a small bundle of 6 week old fur that is Bindi. She’s a kitten, and full of spit and vinegar. Cattitude a mile wide, but sweet with a loud motorboat purr. She’s full of energy, and has taken awhile to integrate with Scout and Sally – the two resident kitties.
I should have realized that the level of activity and supervision a kitten needs isn’t quite the same as a puppies, but nonetheless, in July I got Elsa the Puppy Monster.
I call her a puppy monster, but really she’s a very good girl. Just more work than I remembered Sam being. I guess with Sammy being 3 years old, I’d kinda forgotten the housebreaking, chew-breaking, cat-chasing that went on. With Bindi, I only had to wait a few months before I could stop worrying about my curtains and furniture being destroyed, but with the addition of Elsa, it’s more like a year or two before I feel fairly safe.
However, as with any baby, she’s cute. And that’s what saves her when I find her pulling my curtains off the rod.
Or, she’s eating a pillow.
Or, peeing on the floor.
Or, gleefully chasing a cat.