…is how I will be answering this question. Just kidding. It’s tennis. This prompt has been asked and answered before. I have nothing new to add. Maybe I could play tennis while performing interpretive dance? But not today. For now, my responses to previous prompts are below. Happy Monday!
I suppose the burning question on everyone’s mind is: what was the deal with the orange poo catastrophe? If not, I’m sorry, but the explanation is coming,
Upon walking into the Nursery one morning, orange kitten poo was all over the wood floors, the throw rugs, the bed comforter (this was a guest room turned nursery, recall), and inside the litter box. Also inside the litter box were kittens. Playing in kitten poo. I am not sure how many of you have had kittens, but they explore every aspect of their environment – it’s how they learn. Like kids. Toddlers, in fact. Perpetual toddlers.
Anyway, six innocent eyeballs belonging to six-week old kittens looked up at me – the boys taking a moment out from wrestling in the litter box to do so. Mama Kitty looked up at me with weary, parental eyes.
So. Much. Orange. I tried not to freak out, closed the door and ran to get my mom.
“Mom, the room is covered with orange poo. What is wrong with them? Do they have dysentery? What do I do? We’ll have to throw out the entire room…”
She opened the door and greeted the feline fam calmly. Door closed gently.
“Ame, call the vet. I have no idea what is going on. I’ve never seen this before.”
I called, frantic. “Six weeks old, Yes, orange poo. All over the room. What food am I feeding the mother? Um, I don’t know, dry cat food.” I shrugged at my mom. “Does it have food coloring in it? Let me check.” I checked. “Yes, it has red and yellow dye. The mother’s milk is orange due to the food coloring, and the kittens’ poo is orange because of this?” I slowly repeated so my mom could hear. “Yes, we’ll change the food immediately. Thanks, doctor.”
And we did. No more orange poo. When they weaned off breast milk, we started them on wet food. Then gradually shifted to dry food as they got big boy and big girl teeth.
The family of four eating wet food
Pro tip: funny thing about kittens, they try to eat cat litter. Therefore, do not use clumping litter when you have young, untrained kittens. They will eat it and it could kill them. I would not introduce clumping litter until at least one year old. And beware, when you try to switch, they could go out on a “litter box strike.” I tried the switheroo, and all of my cats held their bladders overnight. Needless to say, I was at the nearest store buying non-clumping cat litter at 7am. I have not tried to switch ever again.
Anyway, as the kittens grew, we could no longer contain them to the guest room. We let them out to roam the house, but not before kitten-proofing everything. They are perpetual toddlers, remember. And yet, they still found ways to create havoc. The two boys, Rafa and Bubba were buds, and co-signed on most of the trouble. Susie quickly became pair-bonded to Mama Kitty. She would not leave her mama’s side. She loved her mother deeply, almost from the day she was born.
The three kittens
The boys… *deep inhale* My mom wanted to give them away. Tried, in fact. Each attempt failed, which pleased me, as I did not want to split up the feline family. Much to my mother’s chagrin, I got my wish: we kept all of the kittens, and the mama, too.
Life carried on in a maniacal, chaotic manner. The human first to leave in the morning left a note regarding the kittens’ status: fed, watered, sleeping, on a tear, etc. The last human to leave had to make sure the house was as kitten-proof as possible. Everything you would anticipate a human toddler attempting, kittens will do.
The boys play-fighting Bubba being, well, Bubba. His siblings look on in amazement My Bubba 🩶My Rafa 🖤My Susie 🩷
Before I forget, if there are any people reading this who are not familiar with cat behavior, or who fancy themselves not cat people, kittens must be taught by humans how to treat humans. That it’s not ok to wrestle with hands or to bite – these are acceptable and expected behaviors within the feline community, but not acceptable interaction with humans. Starting from a young age, kittens must always be handled with care: gently pet, gently picked up. Never, ever use your hand as a toy to tease or poke the kitten: this is how you get cats who bite for fun or who are perceived as aggressive. It leads to people not liking cats and cats being misjudged and feared. It also leads to unloved and abused cats, which saddens me greatly. Also, if a kitten accidentally claws you, do not make a big deal out of it. Say “Ouch!” in a firm manner, and then, “No. We don’t use claws,” in a gentle but firm tone. This is how you raise cats to be gentle and aware of their own nail status – i.e. my cats never intentionally claw me. Not once. If they feel skin under their claws, they retract the claws. Another thing: if you ever are accidentally clawed by a cat during play, do not make a fuss out of it. Hold in your painful yelp. Remove yourself from the play area and clean your wound immediately. Return to the play area. When cats know they have wounded you, they feel terrible. You are a part of their pride, so they don’t want to hurt you. Therefore, it’s best to stifle your scream of pain and go and clean your wound. Come back to the group ready to play, but perhaps with a toy that is less hands-on.
Back to my little cat family. Their personalities formed along with their bodies. Mama Kitty (full grown) was a sweet, loving, anxious but playful girl. She never wanted to escape the house again. Having her babies gave her life a purpose and allowed her to break free from anxiety most of the time. It surfaced when we moved our feet, when men entered the house, or when we wore dark pants. We surmised she was kicked by a man who wore dark pants. Thank goodness she found us when she did. Bubba was a gray fluff of chaos. He was loving, gregarious, and “helpful” (plumbers’ apprentice, anyone?) to anyone who came in to do household repairs. He was lazy, silly, weird and watchful. He knew when I was sick and would rest with me. He adored Susie, Susie wanted him unalive. Rafa was sweet, the caretaker and nurse cat to his feline family. He would groom them all. He was a lap cat, and he liked to lick my hair and shoulders. (I guess I didn’t do well enough grooming myself.) Susie was a sweet but shy girl. I was her favorite human, but she was my mom’s favorite cat. She was always at a disadvantage with two brothers. But they did all play together. They played tag, and they vocalized who was “it” by unique sounds. Many times I’d hear Rafa calling “Bubba!” and Bubba asking “Henlo?” as they ran around in circles, up and down the stairs. I’d play tag with them, too. We’d also play a game where I would flick pieces of dry food at them on the kitchen floor and they would catch them with their hands, pick them up, and pop them into their mouths. Bubba, as fat as he grew to become, was able to catch them with his mouth, mid-air. Rafa, sleek like a panther, needed tiny cat glasses, because without fail he could not catch them, and any thrown into the air would hit him in the face, not the mouth. Bless his clumsy heart. Susie was warp speed with her “hunting” prowess. Female cats usually are better at hunting games – in nature, they are the providers of food, and they are supreme huntresses.
Susie and her mama My kittens
I could go on and on about cats, my cats and about their kittenhood, but I’d write an entire book. Hopefully the photos capture what it was like having three kittens running rampant. I adored each stage as they moved into adulthood, and so did my mom - though she would deny it to anyone silly enough to believe her.
“It's Amy,” I said. 