felines

Recently our household acquired a kitten. My housemate got it, but as she is rarely in the house, it’s basically our cat now. But it’s quite strange having it around. My maternal instincts have kinda of kicked in. I know it’s only a kitten, but its a little life. A little ball of life. A little fluffy ball of moth chasing life. And I’m realising how important I am to him. I want to show him that he is loved and cared for, yet I want to set boundaries, and let him find his own way. It’s such a confusing time. You play with him, because, you know, he’s a kitten and it’s so much fun to play with a kitten. At first he was pawing and clawing and biting a little, all was fine ‘ooooh cutielittlebabykitten. Whosawooshamushawoo’ etc. I didn’t want to reprimand him for biting or anything, because no cat of mine is gonna grow up to be a pussy. He’s gonna need to learn to hunt and kill and bite and start wars. But last night during a rather entertaining game of ‘what’s that on the end of my arm?’, he bites my finger, then my knuckle, then totally sinks his little teeth into my hand. Hurt like beggary (well, not literally, I hear beggary hurts a lot more). But I’m not about to say ‘bad Yosarian’ (that’s his name by the way), and rap him on the head, or do that thing where you pick them up by the neck and they go all stiff and chinesey. It was my fault he bit me. And I’m kind of glad. I felt a tang of pride parents must feel when their daughter rides her first bike, or their son learns the joys of masturbation. He can bite. He can bite well. Some damn fine teeth going on in my little guy. One day some stupid arse bird or mouse is gonna totally feel the wrath of Yosarian. And I helped him towards that. I sat back on the bed, and watch him with a feeling of completion. Parenthood isn’t so tough after all.