Tormented by Kittens: Everyday Magic, Day 437

Who would have thought it? Not I, lover of all kittens of the world, friend to the felines. But in my friend’s Wichita basement guest room, I discovered there are moments when I’m not such a kitten fan, like between the hours of midnight and 3 a.m.. For one thing, these guys — Athos and Porthos (maybe they had to live up to their literary names) — aren’t sweet slumbering babies anymore, but strident toddler-kittens. For another, they’re quite nocturnal, and they weren’t so pleased with having an intruder sleeping, no less, on their bed. So it started:

  • They catapulted themselves from great heights onto plastic sheeting on the floor, waking me up just as I slipped into sleep.
  • They banged something, pretty rhythmically too, under the bed, and when I turned on the light to see what was happening, I only found both their small, white, innocent faces looking up at me in wonder.
  • They charged doors, walls and each other, resulting in mini-meows.
  • They wrestled each other on top of me, which I could almost sleep through, that was until they started pounding their claws through the blankets. I never felt so much like the giant in Gullivan’s Travels in my life, and I’m surprised when I tried to get up that I wasn’t tied down.
  • They moved furniture. I’m sure of it.
  • I’m also sure they were pumping iron with the weight-lifting station, and purposely dropping heavy weights on the floor.
  • Sometime around 3 a.m., I believe they pulled out bongo drums, but it was hard to see exactly what they were doing. I think they were also screaming at each other at about which Republican candidate for president was worse (Athos was sure it was Bachman but Porthos had it in for Cain).

Eventually, I gave up, carried blankets and pillow to the couch, but when I got to the basement door, mama cat, who had been rolling her eyes in the window sill for hours, charged out too. She stopped and looked at me, clearly communicating, “I can’t take it anymore either.”

The problem with kittens is that it’s impossible to stand mad at them because they’re so friggin’ adorable. When I tried to tell my friend, at 3:30 a.m. in her living room (after my jostling woke her up), why I was upstairs, I started laughing so hard I cried. Finally, I got out the words, “Those kittens are hell.”

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