Kittens
I adopted two six month old male kittens from a rescue centre on Sunday. One of them is currently dozing behind me on the back of the sofa; the other one is suspiciously quiet and I suspect he’s wandering around the forbidden work surfaces. I made a good choice. Despite being noisy, greedy and demanding they’re adorable and mean I can wander around the flat talking to them rather than to myself.
They were in the rescue centre thanks to a local dog walker who got chatting to four ‘youths’ (the centre website’s words) in a park. The ‘youths’ had four dogs and a cardboard box. A few enquiries revealed the box contained two kittens, who were going to be used as ’sport’ for the dogs – i.e. they were going to be let loose and ripped apart. Fortunately the dog walker was brave enough to grab the box and leg it to the rescue centre.
They’re so affectionate I believe they started life safe and loved. Worryingly though they’re also trusting – they both became lap cats within two days of being here – and I suspect that’s how they ended up in a box. I’d really rather they didn’t get stolen or adopt a local family that overfeeds them. I’m trying a Pavlovian experiment by rattling biscuits at them near bedtime then giving them food, so hopefully when they’re allowed into the garden they’ll know to come home when they hear the rattle. It’ll probably work as well as my attempts to keep them off the work surfaces but fingers crossed, eh?