The Kitties

On Labor Day, we brought home two new members of the family.

Meet Chewie and Yoda.

(guess who named them?)

Yoda Kitten

Chewie Cat

We walked into the first of three shelters we planned to visit that day and as soon as I spotted them, I made a beeline for their cage. They were so...soft. Like bunnies. And so floppish. And quiet. They were tiny little creatures with big eyes that reminded me of the cat I had growing up. Despite my stern warning to both Brian and the Bear that "we are not getting a cat today," it was me who was pleading to take not one but both of them home. I mean, who can resist squishy-soft kittens? Especially when they just melt in your arms?

Pleeeease can we get a cat? Pleeeeeeeeease???

Scotty, obviously, was all in. And Brian too - he's such a softy. The kittens are sisters born in early April, putting them just around five months. This was exactly what we were looking for - and plus, they had been fostered since being really little and just gotten to the shelter the Friday before. Most interestingly, they are part ragdoll, a breed known for being extremely good with children, having docile temperament, an affection nature, and the tendency to go limp when picked up. Floppy cats? Yes!

Plus, the lady at the shelter told us they can grow to be the "size of a watermelons." Considering Emma's petite stature, I think this perplexed Brian and I. We've never had a cat greater than seven pounds. ...the size of a watermelon? Really? Game on, sister.

Random stock photo found on the internet while Googling "cats the size of watermelons"

The first day of cat ownership was not an exciting one. In fact, it looked a lot like this:

Here, kitty, kitty, kitty...

Our sweet kitties immediately retreated to the safety of the green chair. The only thing visible after they climbed up into the chair was a tiny tuft of (bunny-soft) fur. I'm not even sure who it belonged to.

We kept them in the guest bedroom for the first week with plenty of food, water and toys. Every morning, I'd visit, whistle, and be greeted with silence. I cleaned the litter, freshened their food, and tidied up the place. They remained under the chair. I kind of felt like maid service but that's cool. They'll warm up soon, right? I don't need much back in return...

On Saturday, we opened the door to their room with great flourish ("Release the kitties!" Scotty yelled joyfully). After several hours, Chewie poked her head out, looked around, and then went back under the chair.

Sunday, however, was a different story. On Sunday, they turned into Frat Cats.

And by that, I mean they party all night and sleep all day. The sound of their tiny, tiny footsteps echo in our hallway at all hours of the night. I have no idea what they are doing, but it sounds like elephants thumping down the stairs. I almost tripped over one of the furballs on Monday morning as I made my way down the dark stairs on my way to Hill Day. They ripped apart the Packer Christmas tree in the loft ("shiny balls! Garland! This is AWESOME!") and enjoy throwing their food around with reckless abandon. This morning, I found my beloved blue orchid tipped over with wood chips scattered across the kitchen tile. Picture frames are upside down, pens are scattered...it's like Kittynado hit our house.

So now, every morning, my routine has evolved into freshen water, clean litter, tidy room, but also fix whatever in our house has been unhinged by these tiny creatures. Because when that sun goes down, it's on. The Party Cats are ready to rage.

This is a stage, right?