When You Spend Your Friday Night Wiping Poop Off Kittens

Literally, every day, one of the kittens is covered in its own feces. HAVE YOU NO SHAME, KITTENS? It gets really old giving a wriggly kitten a bath. It’s not even a real bath and it’s still traumatic for everyone involved. I have to wet a washcloth and pin him down and then scrub off the dried cat poop. It’s very humiliating for him, I’m sure. Definitely not a pleasant experience for me.

And the only way I know if one of the kittens have been playing in his own poop is if he comes close enough to me where I will either smell or see poop, not exactly the way I want to wake up in the morning: with kitten poop and it’s fragrance wafting around the room.

Today was no different from every other day the kittens have somehow managed to be lint-rollers that attract poop instead of lint. I turned on Storage Wars, put on yoga pants, and got ready to relax. And then, I saw it. One of the kittens, who has light orange fur, was suddenly transformed into a brown, ugly mess. There was poop. All over his head. He must have been trying to imitate one of those dung beetles he saw on National Geographic. You really shouldn’t let children under two watch television because this is what happens: they will imitate the actions they see on t.v. and make poor life decisions. Like play with poop.

There are other things I could be doing on a Friday night – bar-hopping, going on a date, going to a movie. Instead, I am chasing around a kitten who is tracking poop all over the room with each step of his poop-covered paw. And the chase ends on my bed, where the poop transfers from his paws to my clean sheets. Ah, yes. Namaste. Happy Friday.

- Daughter

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I Bought Fancy Toys for the Kittens but They Only Play with Their Poop

"Are you hiding poop in there?"

“Are you hiding poop in there?”

I don’t really understand why the kittens find poop preferable to the six jingley play balls and the pricey carpeted scratching post with feathers. They have ignored all of my efforts to impress them with material things. Maybe because they have self-sustaining entertainment: their own poop. I wish I had known this before I dropped a pretty penny trying to create a fun environment for them. I would have gotten bigger litter boxes or just filled my entire room with litter – oh wait, that’s already happened – had I known that they would enjoy what happens in the litter box so very much.

Every time I go into the room, the kittens are doing their darnedest to turn my room into a raw sewage dumping ground. Their toys sit sadly in dark corners, untouched save for some half-hearted pawing all the while the kittens thinking to themselves: I wish this was poop. 

This is what happens: they paw around balls of poo in the litter box until they successfully get a piece of it out. Then, they proceed to play table hockey amongst themselves using the poop as the puck.  I’m lucky if the poop is covered in cat litter. God forbid if it’s not and they step in it… they sprint away from me and track their feces to places unreachable by humans thus forever leaving their excrement as eternal monuments. The only positive aspect of this poop-flinging is that it forces me to constantly vacuum and clean. My room alternates between being a toxic waste site and being spotless.

I have taken to sleeping on the couch because I found it hard to sleep with kittens running across my face at 3am. Aw, cute little kittens with their cute little paws running across you! No, you are mistaken. I know where those paws have been: in and around their own poop. Mostly IN.

As for the mama cat, Ginger Rogers, I had the misfortune of catching her out of her favorite hidey-hole under my bed. She looked at me with murder in her eyes and hissed her meanest hiss. She’s missing a few teeth so the effect is sort of a lisp-y hiss and is slightly less intimidating than a regular hiss. I think she might be hating me less because instead of hissing for thirty seconds while spitting, she only hissed for fifteen seconds while slowly retreating under the bed. I’ll take it!!!

- Daughter

The Kittens are in the Rebellious Teen Phase

Go home, Kitten, you’re drunk.

But seriously, I walked into my bedroom today and found a kitten asleep in one of my shoes. The smell of tequila and regret wafting through the air mixed with Tidy Cats: Multiple Cats Formula cat litter smell. I sensed mischief.

I consider myself to be relaxed in my parenting style. I let Loki and Thor be themselves, even when it walks the line between good taste and Ke$ha. As long as they are not hurting themselves, I let them be. But this is where I draw the line.

Substance abuse. It’s a serious problem among our nation’s youth. And I will not enable my adopted children to become a statistic. First tequila… and then what, cat nip? And then, they’re going to go and knock up some stray on the street.

You can barely take care of yourself, Loki. I’m not even sure you know how to walk. How are you going to take care of a litter of kittens? How do you expect to provide for a family when all you’ve got is a scratching post and a plastic ball to your name?  Are you satisfied with that kind of life? I raised you better than this. 

No, you’re big adorable blue eyes will not sway me. Stop it. Drugs are bad. Stop trying to hypnotize me.  

I don’t care how cute you look asleep in the shoe. This is not acceptable behavior and I will not tolerate it under my roof. 

Dear God, it’s… so cute. I’m dying. Okay, stay with me forever. You are forgiven. 

- Daughter

Study: Kittens Impair Brain Function

My roommate and I may foster kittens because I don’t want to have to wait until after college to become a cat lady; I need to get a move on already. I am nothing if not an over-achiever, you see.

We went to a local animal shelter to meet a mama cat and her two babies. As soon as I pet those tiny kittens, everything was right in the world.

I don’t have anything to say today because this is the only thing my brain is capable processing:

 

HOW AM I SINGLE?

- Daughter

Feeding a Kitten Like a Boss

SMILE, BABY MICHELLE, YOU'RE HOLDING A KITTEN.

SMILE, BABY MICHELLE, YOU’RE HOLDING A KITTEN.

This is me when I was tan and 6 or 7 with an awesome haircut. I’m holding Sandy, our cat, before she turned into the Antichrist we know today.

- Daughter

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