Just days after writing this post about how KyraCat is an asshole, we got another cat. It wasn’t a planned thing. It was a thought I’d had. I’d always wanted to catch Kyra’s brothers and sisters and give at least one them a home so she could have a friend to play with and someone to unite with against the dogs, but with her brothers and sisters and mother cat being MIA, I let go of that hope.
Then, a week after Kyra got spayed, we took her back to the vet because she had some swelling around her incision that we wanted to get checked out, just in case. When it comes to that baby cat, we’d rather be safe than sorry, especially given all the love we’ve poured into her upbringing.
Kyra was cool and collected at the vet’s until the vet came into the room and wanted to touch her. Then Kyra turned nasty, hissing and fussing and bitching and moaning and scratching and biting. It was a little hilarious, because angry cat noises are ridiculous, but it was also frustrating because we were getting really tired of the whole “I’m an asshole, you fuckers better watch out” routine Kyra had become so addicted to in recent weeks.
So the vet tells us that she might really benefit from having another cat in the house, that bottle-fed kitties raised on their own are often little assholes, but that adding another cat to the home might help mitigate some of her attitude problem. We told her we’d thought about getting another cat, but weren’t really sure and then she told us that they had kittens there and that we were welcome to take a look. I said I wasn’t sure, looked at Andrew who seemed, surprisingly, on board with the whole thing and finally relented to just look at the kittens.
I’m not sure what I was expecting when they said they would show us some kittens, but it most definitely wasn’t the room of kittens they showed us. I mean, an entire ROOM OF KITTENS! I’d always dreamed about a room full of kittens and there, right in front of me, it was. It was like stumbling upon lost treasure, that kitten room.
Once we were in the kitten room, we knew we’d be taking home a kitten. There was no way we could leave the room without one. We snuggled and cooed over about 15 of the kittens, marveling at how cute the little gray one was, and how similar a little orange kitty looked to Kyra and one of the vet techs was kind enough to give us the run down on all the little kitties and their personalities and their back stories and we all came to the conclusion that we should probably get a boy kitty since girl cats usually get along better with boy cats and since Kyra hadn’t even seen a cat, ever, really, since her eyes were only barely open when we found her and even then they didn’t have the ability to focus on anything, and we wanted the experience of a new cat to be as un-traumatizing as possible for Kyra.
And then the vet said the little black kitties are the hardest to adopt out and we knew that the little black boy kitty bouncing around the room was the one, because clearly, we had to adopt him and SAVE HIM from spending his whole kitty lie in the kitten room being all sad and not getting adopted because people are stupid and think black kitties are bad luck or plain or what the fuck ever.
So now, we have Nicodemus, who we call Nic or Nicky.
When we first brought him home, Kyra was pissed. She didn’t know what he was and wanted nothing to do with him. She’d hiss if he so much as looked at her. I was worried. Scared they’d hate each other forever, but a week later, they’re in love.
They snuggle on the couch together, chase each other around the house and generally don’t like to be away from each other.
And now we’re a two cat, two dog, two people sort of family. It’s madness, sure, but I can’t imagine my life without all of these little critters.
Welcome to the family, Nic!