Thursday, March 26, 2009

I'm Too Old For This

I think I'm too old for kittens. The constant energy is killing me. Not to mention the destruction. (Or the fact that I've worked almost every day straight for 3 weeks--that's really not helping my sanity either.)

This morning it was my glasses knocked into the litter box. Last night it was my silk curtains being used as a landing strip. The day before it was a trek up on the roof and a leap over the fence into the neighbor's yard (Jake's working on his career as an escape artist).

The paper shade on my poor lamp looks like it was run through a shredder. I've lost the ability to even react when I see tiny teeth and claws sink into it. There's 4 am wrestling matches on top of my head that usually end when I get bitten. Not to mention the glasses of tea knocked over and puke IN the bed. I've changed the sheets three times this week. And evidently my leg looks like a scratching post or climbing pole, because both of them love to climb from my ankle all the way to my ass while I dance around trying to shake them off. (Maybe I should start making and selling scratching posts that look like human legs.)

Speaking of ankles, both of mine are covered in scratches because of the number of times I've unsuspectingly rounded a corner and been attacked out of nowhere. And did you know it's really hard to see a tiny black kitten in the dark?

Someone please tell me I'll survive the kitten phase and we'll actually get to the fat and lazy old cat stage. Please? Please???

I never thought I'd say that Sam's the "good" cat. (But even he's had his moments this week.)

For now I'm going to pack up every breakable or shreddable item that is of import and hide it away until they actually start sleeping most of the day and learn not to careen wildly into everything. Will that day actually come? Will it?? I need to know!!!

Lord help me.

1 comment:

  1. Ah the memories of kittenhood. I'm still recovering from it and my boys are 6 now! You'll survive.... mass quantities of alcohol helps with the scratches.... the kind you drink, that is because after awhile you'll forget how scratched up you are. I lived in jeans until the day the boys went to the vet and returned without their front claws. (cruel? perhaps.... however, they had the opportunity to keep them and they used their claws for evil and not good.)

    So yes, you'll survive. Barely, but you will survive.
    Oh, what about the name Ozzie, as in Ozzie Smith?