Right Wing Nut House

She arrived around dinner time, a white furrball of a kitten with a tiny little spot of black off center on the top of her head. She peered out anxiously from the bars of the cat carrier as my other two adult cats, Ebony and Aramas, circled the carrier warily, sniffing the unfamiliar odor and looking at me as if to say “WTF is this?” (Cats, of course, do not use such vulgarity. When speaking, I’m sure that they are earthy without being crude.)

The mewling kitten did not engender the maternal feelings in Ebony that I had hoped for nor did Aramas seem very accepting either. Both were hissing at the little creature who must have been wondering where its mother and litter mates had gone to. Finally, we opened the door to the carrier and Snowball stumbled out into her new home. The two adults took one final look at the tiny thing, and gave what in the cat world must be the ultimate insult; they contemptuously turned their backs on Snowball and wandered off to continue their 23 1/2 hour daily nap.

I’m sure they’ll get used to each other eventually. I’ve been kept by cats for nearly 35 years and have seen this drama play out several times. For the next few days , they will do their best to ignore each other - except when they think the other one isn’t watching. Then they will study their new housemate with an intensity bordering on fanaticism. I’ve seen cats watch a sleeping new arrival for hours, just looking at the interloper with a gaze that would freeze the blood of any lesser creature. What can they be thinking? Are their brains being rewired so that they accept the newbie with the same indifference that the adults treat each other? Perhaps they are making up their mind about whether to make a delectable little snack of the kitten and are thinking of how to prepare the repast. Shall I shred it first and then munch or perhaps have it al dente with a little catnip seasoning?

There will be the inevitable tussles at the food station. Our two adults have grown old and fat and in order to keep their weight down we now feed them twice a day rather than leave food out all day for them. So dinner time should get interesting. Aramas has already gulped down the Purina Kitten Chow we left out for Snowball, reveling in the milk flavored nuggets. In truth, he mostly enjoyed the novelty, I think. Until things settle down, we’re going to have to feed poor little Snowball on top of the kitchen counter, a bad move since when a little older, Snowball will have to be retrained not to get up there. The two adults have long since decided it’s entirely too much work and undignified to boot to be jumping on top of counters. Truth be told, they haven’t made any jump higher than the height of the litter box in years.

It’s amazing to watch as Sue falls under the spell of the new arrival. Like the Sirens of Sirenum kittens have a remarkable effect on humans. To watch a grown woman possessing uncommon common sense and will of iron melt like a stick of butter at a Fourth of July cookout whenever the creature whimpers piteously about this or that confirms my belief that cats are indeed bewitched. They first worm their way into your heart. Only later, after you’re their prisoner, do they begin your training. “Feed me this” or “Don’t feed me that.” “Clean the litterbox, clown!” “Move your feet I want to lie here.” And of course, “You may pet me now.” (Cats manage to control even this manifestation of affection as they direct your hand to exactly where they want to be stroked).

I, of course, am immune to all of this nonsense. Well…perhaps not immune. Maybe it’s just that my chains have been lengthened down through the years and I don’t notice my bondage quite as much. And I suppose I’m as enamored of our new kitten as Sue is. I’ve been wanting a little one for more than 10 years and seeing the tiny eyes, the cute little kitten mouth, and the indescribably delicate and forlorn look on the creature’s face causes my heartstrings to tug. But I’m trying to resist the magic spell being cast by what our ancestors in the middle ages referred to as “The Devil’s Familiar.”

I can tell you that at this point, resistance is futile.