Fish Like a GIRL

Yes, I am aware of the debate. Some people call themselves a “pet parent,” and other people find the term ridiculous.

“They’re animals, not children!” Those people cry. Meh. Calm down. Honestly, if I have to ensure a being gets food, water, play, exercise and also that they are safe and that they learn the right things, it might be a whole lot easier in many aspects with a pet, but I will still always call myself a “pet mom.”

So, some readers know, we lost both of our dogs last spring, Daisy to Cushing’s and Zona to kidney failure. They were both 15 and had been together since they were pups — which, I believe, was the reason Zona’s kidney issues progressed so quickly after she passed. He was as devastated as we were.

When we started thinking about another pet, Chet suggested a cat rather than a dog, as it would be easier with our tournament schedule when we had to be gone for 18 hours at a time. I agreed and started my journey to become the “crazy old cat lady.” We found two kittens, sisters who the shelter said were fairly bonded and it would be nice if they went together. On the advice of a good friend who is a foster kitten mom and who has saved countless babies who have needed to be bottle fed and have had a wealth of other complications, it would be best to get younger cats. They would adapt better to whatever lifestyle a person might have, she mentioned, so we thought it would be good with the tournament situation.

As I started this column on a completely different subject, I heard something from the mudroom that did not sound at all good.

I put my laptop down and headed that way, only to find Stevie (Stevie Nicks) kicking all of the fresh litter out of one of the litter boxes. I thought perhaps I had committed the most heinous crime of purchasing the wrong type of litter — but I had been using this same type for over a week, so that quickly fell by the wayside as the main issue.

Then I saw it. I read that if a person has multiple cats, they need that many litter boxes plus one. Well, I only have two, not three, but it seems to work out normally. What was the problem? Apparently “someone” (and I think it was actually Stevie, not Cleo) had done a number two in the litter box where they usually only do number one. The travesty! I do find it interesting, however, that they both use the “out in the open” litter box for one thing and the covered litter box for the other. But I did not realize a misuse would lead to a spastic temper tantrum such as this.

Obviously, for me, it had been 15 years since I had “baby animals,” as Chet calls them, in the house. Chet had not had pets, other than the dogs, as an adult. So it has been a bit of a learning curve for both of us, but it has also been fun.

Both have at least doubled in size since we brought them home two months ago. They have also quadrupled in personality. At first, of course, they were quite timid, and would hide under the cupboard of the butler’s pantry area on one side of the kitchen. I kept them in the kitchen and mud room for the first week or so, and for the first few weeks at night or when we were gone. They seemed to adjust pretty quickly, as young animals do.

Now they have the free run of the house other than when we are gone for an extended period of time. I then close the doors to the bathroom, bedroom and office, but they can terrorize the rest of the place. And sometimes they do. Chet came home from work one day when I was gone since early morning and found a lamp knocked over. That was not a big surprise to me, considering the way they chase each other through the house and up and down the furniture when they get the “zoomies,” a condition known well by all pet owners.

Kittens are definitely different than puppies. That kind of goes without saying. For instance, dogs are pretty easy to keep off of certain furniture or out of certain places, for the most part. Cats? Well, they do not really care as much what their human thinks. These two are pretty good, and I have only had to take one of them, Cleo, off of the kitchen counter and tell her “no” about three or four times, and now she stays off the counter, even when there is something up there she wants. I was lucky with the dogs in that both of them were too short to grab anything off the kitchen counter.

I am happy to report that I believe we are close to the end of the unabashed attacking of our feet through the covers. They still want to play, if I move my feet, of course. But the use of their claws has been greatly reduced by my use of a spray water bottle. I think the last of the scratches on my feet are finally healing up, at least for now.

They are up to 4.5 pounds now, but still too small to fit into their harnesses I bought last month. We have had them outside a few times in an outdoor cat playpen, which has been fun. Stevie immediately keys in on the “sky raisins,” aka flies, and Cleo is more interested in playing with the grass that comes up through the mesh of the playpen.

I believe Chet has probably lost four or five drawstrings on shorts and one pair of sweat pants. We have decided the one curtain the cats shredded will not be replaced until they are much older. His old leather recliner, which has seen better days anyway, is now sporting a few small holes from tiny kitten claws as they crawl up to see if they can jump up to catch the ceiling fan. The placemats rarely last an hour on the dining room table without being thrown to the floor. But if I learned one thing from the emptiness of the house after we lost our pups, it is that we will miss all of those things someday. Hopefully that day is super far off, but you will never hear me complain about any of those things, or a kitten licking the end of my nose at 2 a.m., or trying to read a book only to have my book light batted away by a kitten who needs immediate snuggles and scratches. I will never complain about any of the craziness, because I know what it is to lose all of that. Embrace the chaos, I say.

Beckie Gaskill may be reached at [email protected] or [email protected].