New Castle News
NEW CASTLE —
From 1990 to 1999 I begged my parents, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus for a kitten.
But I never got one.
Not for Christmas, not for my birthday, not when I intentionally pulled out random incisors, not ever.
So, when I was in my early 20s and living in my own apartment and friends of mine said they had kittens, I jumped at the chance to bring one home.
My sister also lived with me and we went together to choose a cat. However when we got to our friend’s house we felt bad for the 9-week-old kittens and for removing them from their mother and whisking them away to the unknown.
So, to soften the blow for them, we decided to take two cats.
Both calicos, one was more dominantly black with bright orange and brown and white patches and the other was a lighter version of her sister.
We would call them “Frieda” and “Lennon.”
As kittens, Frieda and Lennon were just lovely. They slept in our beds, played with strings and used their litter boxes efficiently and consistently.
Having cats was a cinch.
But, when I got married and moved out of that apartment and into a condo with my husband, their true personalities, it seemed, really began to shine through.
The first discovery that we made was that Frieda is jungle cat vicious.
Mean to her sister, mean to my husband, mean to strangers and mean to the neighbor’s cat “Leon” that would “knock” on our screen door and meow every morning.
She provokes fur stroking by arching her back and rolling around playfully on the ground, but if anyone is daring enough to pet her she will encase their hands in all four of her claws like a venus fly trap.
Lennon, a victim of ruthless sibling bullying, has some, er, psychological disturbances. She “talks” to various walls in the house, claws obsessively in corners of the hardwood floor, and allows her sister to take her treats and toys.
She follows me around the house and meows for attention, but won’t let anyone else near her soft and luscious fur.
They do have some things in common, however.
They both hoard things. Lots of things. They hoard toilet paper rolls, hair-ties, napkins, random pieces of mail, socks, strings, rubber bands, parts to baby bottles and q-tips.
In addition to hoarding, they both spend all night every night, camping outside our bedroom, waiting for that moment at which we open the door to tend to a crying baby so that they can scurry in and bite holes in our lower extremities all night long.
They claw my toilet paper rolls and used my antique dining room chairs as scratching posts.
I can never have a dog, or any other pet, because they will eat it.
Some days I wonder how I ended up with such crazy animals, because I was awfully nice to them from the very start.
Then, flipping through the television channels I came across the show “My cat from Hell” and it all makes sense.
Cats are territorial, spiteful, cunning and calculating by nature. Simple as that.
Some people have really nice and friendly cats. I actually have an outdoor cat that loves people. But, these felines are, in my opinion, the exception.
So, if you ever come to my house and Frieda rolls around on the floor in front of you, resist the temptation. And if you like having 10 fingers, don’t let your arms dangle over the side of my couch.
They like me, they don’t bother with my children and they require very little maintenance.
I’m pretty sure that’s as good as it’s gonna get.