I had sort of forgotten the insanity of having a kitten. I sort of remembered in a vague way (kind of the way you forget the fine details of that newborn-sleep-deprivation haze) and I had read Amanda‘s numerous posts about how crazy her kitten was when she first got him. Still, when Angel first arrived here in our home, she was so sweet that Sunday. She snuggled and slept with Hayley, she played in that cute kitten way with a ball of aluminum foil, and she was the epitome of a happy yet serene kitten. I actually thought about how I wished we had gotten a kitten when we brought Breanna home because it might have helped Hayley cope a bit better.
Then the next day she showed how the name “Angel” is a bit of a mockery. She’s not terrible, she doesn’t do anything horrible. The only thing that really drives me crazy is trying to keep her off the damn table and the fact that she constantly attacks my feet. Mostly, she’s just a regular kitten being a kitten. Still, I’m really glad that we didn’t actually get her when Breanna was a newborn because I probably would have had a lot less patience with the shenanigans.
I do have to admit, she is one of the most tolerant cats I’ve ever seen. Hayley loves her more than anything but she sometimes forgets that she’s just a kitten and she picks her up awkwardly or squeezes her a bit tighter than she should, but Angel always comes back to her. Breanna is learning to be gentle but sometimes she gets a little over-enthusiastic and she trades in gently petting Angel’s head for happily smacking her or grabbing her by the fur; all Angel does in retaliation is a bit of playful biting of Breanna’s leg, purring the whole time.
While we have an Angel, I used to have a devil, a fluffy black cat named Satan. My parents got him five years before I was born. My mom always loved to joke that she was glad neither I nor my sister was allergic to cats because she would have hated to have to give us up for adoption. Satan was a great cat.
He was an indoor cat all his life and although we didn’t live on a main street, our intersection was with a very busy one. We lived in an upper duplex and so we would answer the door bell and open the door at the top of our stairs and the people coming in would open the door at the bottom. Although he occasionally managed to sneak into the backyard at my grandmother’s house (so he could eat grass), Satan never ever tried to slip outside at our place.
Then one day Jehovah’s Witnesses came by. My mother hated when that happened because she’s one of the least confrontational people on the planet so although she would turn them away quickly with a “no thank you” she always felt really bad about it and she always wished they would just stop coming.
That day, for reasons that no one knows, our cat tried to escape when the top and bottom door opened. The two Witnesses at the bottom looked up to see an enormous black cat racing towards them; when he saw two strangers he raised his fur and hissed. Meanwhile, my mother was terrified he was going to get out and run the half block to the intersection and get run over by a car so she did the only thing she could do.
She screamed, “Satan! Satan, come back!”
She screamed for Satan to come back. To a black, hissing, puffed up cat. In front of two very religious, God-fearing people.
They tripped over each other backing out the door and yanked it shut as they left. Satan stopped at the bottom, his escape foiled. It was only after my mother got him back up the stairs that she realized what she had just shouted. “Oh god,” she said. She was stricken. The rest of our family was pretty amused by her faux-pas.
Jehovah’s Witnesses never came to our door again. Ever. True story.