EnRon (as they are collectively known) gave us time off for good behaviour on Saturday night, and we spent a relatively peaceful night with Lilith curled up between us. Until Iggy arrived and sat on my pillow again; he is a large chap, and shoves. At one point he was sitting on my head.
We had forgotten just how much kittens can *eat* – these two are Olympic champions in training. However, what goes in must (mostly) come out, and despite the man who’d sold them to us claiming they were litter trained, they certainly weren’t when they arrived here.
To be fair, our litter trays are for grown up cats – they are deep, and have lids, and one even has a door, and I think they might have been a bit scary for little kits. We took the lids off, but they still didn’t like it, and the house gradually spouted more and more aluminium foil in an attempt to stop them using various places. It’s clear that they *wanted* to be clean, but didn’t quite recognise where to go.
So on Sunday, we sallied forth to Pets At Home, and bought two teeny tiny litter trays in pastel blue. They had them in pastel pink too, but we decided against those. Why can’t litter trays come in, oh, black for instance? Or tartan, or polka dots, rather than these insipid colours.
We also bought two different sorts of litters, in case they didn’t like what we had. And I think it’s working – they’ve used both of the trays now. And we bought some spray to dissuade them from using other places – it smells vile to us, at least, and doesn’t seem to bother them one whit. Ho hum.
Despite all this, they are a total joy – sproinging and pouncing and then suddenly going zonk as kittens do. We think that really, at eight weeks old, they were too young to leave their mother – Henry not so much, but Ron seems much runtier, and misses his mum, I think. But the fellow we bought them from had sold another from the litter a week earlier, and if we’d taken them back he’d have moved them on again, so we shall persevere with them, and attempt to be cat mothers to the pair of them.
The incumbent cats remain less than impressed, and much hissing and spitting goes on. But there are no fat tails, and I don’t usually hear anything if we’re not in the room, so we think a great deal of it is posturing. We hope, anyway …
Leave a Reply