Tuesday, July 21, 2009
David and I are certifiable crazy.
We hear a sad story about a kitten found in a construction trailer, her side adhered to the floor with carpet glue and her paws stuck together in between the pads. We hear about how she is this miracle story - -she could have starved to death -- and we are like, "ah. That's so sad."
Dr. Jim: You need to see this kitty. She's been shaved, her paws unglued, and she has the best personality. You need to adopt her; she needs a good home. Plus, she's a red cat.
David: [who has a soft spot for all animals, but especially loves red cats] What do you think?
Me: I dunno.
Keats: Uh, hell no.
Dr. Best: We want this kitty to go to a good home. She needs to be a Gillham kitty -- pampered, spoiled, catered to, and allowed to run the house as her own.
David: I'm tempted; what do you think?
Me: I dunno.
Keats: Uh, I don't think you are listening. Hell no.
So, we adopt a kitten -- about three months old, and I pick her up Saturday. I bring her home all wrapped up nicely in a cage.
New kitten: Hello, big fat black cat, I'm here to stay.
Keats: Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Hissssssssssssssssssssss. I hate you. I'm gonna hide in the basement and make THEM pay....... they will live to regret this..... Noooooooooo.
So, now, Keats and Tallulah, new kitty's name, have been in the house for four days together. It is not going well. If they happen to cross paths, David and I play hockey referees. It's like -- you get Keats.. and I'll get Tallulah and we'll put them both on PENALTY. When they are in the same room, Keats and Tallulah -- as we say, no likey each other.
I have given Tallulah all the toys that Keats has rejected. Two stuffed birds, little plastic balls with bells inside, and wads of paper that Keats used to bat like Venus Williams.
Keats got too cool for toys. We've been lucky if she will react to a laser light on the end of a tape measure.. ..
Keats: Eh. [about toys]
Tallulah: LET ME AT THEM. WHAM! This is fun. Give me more. SLAP. [run like mad] YAY! All righty! WHAM. Slide.
Keats has no claws. Tallulah has hers, small, but she doesn't realize that Keats is basically paw friendly even if you're being swatted like an annoying fly.
Yesterday, Keats and Tallulah had a stand off in the hallway like the OK Corral. Keats gave Tallulah two swift swats to the face, hissed at her like an adder, and slinked off ticked into the kitchen to watch out for Tallulah, eyes all aglow, like the Secret Service.
Meanwhile, Tallulah runs from one side of the room to the other carrying the stuffed birds, chasing the laser, or attacking the fireplace utensils.
Keats sits with her nose out of whack and waits for us to return Tallulah to wherever she came from...
Me: David, what are we gonna do if they continue this way?
David: I dunno.
Keats: I guess I'll have to kill her.
I'll keep you posted.
BTW: I made Tallulah a toy with an old sock, some catnip, a Christmas bell, and tied up the whole makeshift thing with twine. Today, while Tallulah was napping in the trash can, Keats showed up and carried off the sock. Cats -- LOL