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iApprove: Kittens.

April 6, 2009

So… it’s late at night, about half an hour from bedtime, and I am babysitting.

Currently under my charge are four tiny, fuzzy kittens.  Their mother has gone out for some fresh air, and so I’m left to keep an eye on them, on account of if I don’t they tend to throw rather loud fits.  (Singing to them no longer works.  Presumably they’ve wised up to the fact that I am not actually their mother.)

Quite a bit has happened since I last spoke of the beasties.  They’ve gotten bigger (of course), they’ve gotten fluffier, and they’ve gotten more rambunctious.  They are now much too energetic to be kept in the confines of their box, so during the day we let them out onto the bedroom floor, where they crawl all over and whine their little heads off whenever someone isn’t on the floor with them (like now).

They’ve finally mastered the art of walking, by which I mean they can usually go in a straight line without tipping over (though sometimes not), and are beginning to develop the rambunctious behaviors that will make them both completely obnoxious and utterly irresistible in a week or so.  One of them in particular has taken a special liking to my clothes, which he has tried to attack in approximately forty different ways.  (In point of fact, when I got up to write this, I paused midway and found him clinging to my pants.  I had to pick him off and put him back on the floor.)

Interestingly, they also seem to have realized that I can leave the floor without leaving the room entirely.  At the moment they’re all clustered around my left foot, playing or sniffing or just sitting depending on which kitten it is.  Already, they seem to have no qualms about treating a human being as a surrogate mother; they seem to find my presence nearly as comforting as that of the absent queen.  At any rate, they’re not squawking anymore.

It’s rather funny to look upon them.  Three of the kittens are solid black, like their mother.  The last one is black on the body, tail, and legs; the paws and a thin stripe along the belly are white, and its face is white-tipped grey tabby.   (We like to joke about this one that his mother ran out of ink before she had finished printing his fur – it certainly appears that way, when you line him up to his siblings.)

And now they’ve moved away from my feet.  Surprise, surprise – they seem to be perfectly contented to move and play around the floor.  This is good; it may mean I won’t have to lay on the floor to soothe their little pleas of despair when their mother goes out tomorrow.

Now if only I could persuade the dog not to lick them every time he comes in.

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