Cats

One week ago, my girlfriend, Jamie, told me she desperately wanted to adopt two kittens. It wasn't a random idea, of course. She'd seen them in the vet's office around the corner from our house. They were extremely cute, she told me. They were both housebroken, socialized, and up to date on all their shots.

People weren't jumping to buy them because they'd each lost an eye to a bad infection shortly after birth. There were a lot of people willing to give a new pet all the love and affection it needed, it seemed, but only if said pet was family photo-ready. But Jamie wasn't like a lot of people. She already loved those two kittens because no one else did. They were extremely cute, she told me again, and housebroken, and socialized. They just needed a loving home.

I flat out told her no.

Three years ago, I met my now girlfriend, Jamie, and before long we were inseparable. Though I never would have admitted it at the time, I'd never met someone I was so in tune with. She was smart, funny, kind, and extremely humble, just like me. Things went from good to great in a beat of our hearts. Yep, it really was as corny as that last sentence. I was happy. She was happy. The world was our burrito1.

Then I met her damn dog. My life has been one big struggle for that alpha male badge ever since.

Yes, it's true, I'm an empty shell of a human being, a grown ass man able and willing to dislike a four-legged animal that knows no better, but my refusal to adopt two more really came down to a lack of trust in Jamie. I doubted her ability to raise two "very cute" kittens without coddling them to the point of unshakable hate and fear of anyone else.

And by "anyone else," I mean me.

But Jamie is just like me, perhaps even more so now than when we first met, so she happily took my no as a maybe/possibly and pressed on. She brought up those two kittens again and again, asking me for advice on names, letting me know that the vet would pay for everything and anything for the first year, yadda, yadda, yadda, etcetera, etcetera, and so forth, and so on, yap, yap, yap.

Alright already!

Finally, I told her that, though I didn't want the responsibility of owning two new pets, I wouldn't stop her from adopting them.

So she did.

Three days ago, the girl kitten arrived. The vet said her brother had to stay at the office for some extra TLC, but she was good to go. Though I refused to call either cat my own, Jamie took my advice on the names, borrowing from an anime I'm totally gay for.

The girl kitten is named Kisa. I'm convinced Kisa is on crack.

I didn't see her when she arrived that evening—I work nights and I was way too busy sleeping to say hi—but I did get to see her when I got back home the next morning.

Actually, I saw a blur. It was a puffy, off-white blur that zipped past my leg from the window to the couch. Don't worry, though, she wasn't scared. She was far from it.

I don't speak kitten or read itty bitty kitty minds, but I believe Kisa thinks every object in her known universe was made to be pounced, so when the door moved and I walked in, she welcomed me with open claws.

Since meeting her, I've seen Kisa pounce every kitty toy in the place, an empty bottle, a curtain, a damn dog, the corner of a rug, a piece of fuzz, a very large table, the inside of our refrigerator, my keys, my cell phone, anything that vaguely resembled a shoelace, air, and that front door.

After Jamie left that morning, I got an idea. Cat, meet my left foot. As it lingered before her she couldn't help but stare…and wait. Then I swung it away, which was enough to bring Kisa one doctor's note shy of an an epileptic fit. She dove, my foot ducked, she dove again, my foot ducked again, repeat, repeat, repeat.

I tired long before she did.

And now I know what a bad idea feels like, because I can not walk two steps in that house without my left foot coming under seige by Warrior Kisa.

She's not just a fighter, though. She's a lover too. She's only been with us for three days, but I firmly believe that the space between the back of our couch and the back of my neck is her new paradise. And she fancies purring in my ear. I think she's trying to seduce me.

Kisa's so full of energy and so ready to play that I worry about her sometimes. All she gets to do all day is eat, sleep, and chase carpet fuzz. Hopefully, her brother will help keep her busy when he gets here.

If he's anything like her, though, I fear for every kitty toy, empty bottle, curtain, dog, rug corner, piece of fuzz, table, refrigerated food item, key, cell phone, shoelace, waff of air, and door in my house. They won't survive.

But if push comes to shove, there's always my right foot, I guess.

Next up: Cats 2: Electric Boogaloo



1. If you actually get through enough of that to know what I'm talking about, I'll send you a Klondike Bar. Serious2.

2. Okay, not really.