Kittens are Cute

Talk about a blatantly obvious statement. Kittens are cute. Well they are! Especially if they happen to be the ones that live with you. The cats who live with me, Newton and Einstein, are nearly two years old and are kittens no longer. They have grown into cats, approximately ten pounds each, who manage to sound like thousand pound crazed water buffalo when they tear through the house in hot pursuit of each other. They are alternately affectionate and aloof, funny and exasperating, sleeping peacefully and romping. It's already hard to remember them as the tiny puffballs of fur they were when we brought them home from Colleen's. The boys and I had been considering adopting a pair of kittens for several months. In July of 2006, Colleen called and said she had eight kittens ready to leave their moms and invited us out for first pick. The younger son and I hopped in the van and headed out to shop for cat related items. Food, litter and a litter box, a catnip enhanced scratching thing that they actually have used instead of the furniture! Next stop was Colleen's pastoral little acreage where she lives with a husband, one dog, three llamas, numerous chickens and cats who eat from the same dishes, and two talking birds. Her vegetable garden was at its peak, she was harvesting and canning and freezing from the garden's late summer splendor. She met us in the driveway, followed by an entourage of several chickens and cats of various size and color. The task at hand was to choose two, and only two, kittens to take home with us. While pondering this dilemma, an interesting thing happened. One of the kittens chose us. I felt a tickle on the top of my left foot. I looked down. And perched on top of my foot between the sandal straps was a tiny gray tiger kitten. He wobbled back and forth a little and squawked noisily at me before darting off to wrestle with his brother, a black and white kitten with a white stripe up his nose. I picked up the black and white one and gazed at his little kitten face. He had inordinately long, white eyebrow whiskers that contrasted sharply with his mostly black face. I immediately thought, Einstein had wild, bushy white eyebrows! The younger son observed that if that one was going to be called Einstein, the tiger should be called Newton. We took them home. And I have yet to figure out why the younger son is their favorite human. After all, I am the one who feeds them. You'd think that would count for something.