Eight feet, one working brain cell in Well now

The kittens are doing quite well, thank you very much.

The plan was to get two kittens, rather than one, to fill the void left in Lucy’s life after Tessa passed. It seemed cruel to me to let Lucy be all alone in the quiet house all day when I was away. Her entire life (after adoption at 5 weeks), she’d shared life with Tessa. She’s 13 years old though and a decidedly cranky puss to boot. Tossing a single kitten at her, a ball of perpetual motion with a targeting system that locks itself onto whatever moves within its sight, and expecting her to put up with the fluffbutt’s intense and eternal fascination - well, even I could see that was setting the hypothetical kitten up for massacre.

The thinking behind two kittens was that they would find each other to be way more interesting than the big old cranky cat who didn’t like them anyway. They’d naturally find each other more fun to play with and avoid pestering Lucy.
If Lucy chose to accept them, great. If she didn’t, well, I tried. At the very least, Lucy might not be happy about the kittens, but she certainly wouldn’t be bored.

Turns out I wasn’t too far off. I adopted the kittens, Coco & Esme, from the shelter. They were about three months old and excessively kinetic. When Lucy saw them, it was hate at first sight. If I’d brought a Rottweiler with a special taste for tuxedo cat into the house Lucy could not have been more upset. Even though I put the kittens into a playpen to keep them apart, Lucy went into rabid Halloween cat mode. The term hissy fit, that’s a term derived straight from feline aggressive behavior and Lucy is quite happy to give at literal demonstration.

Unluckily, the kittens turned out to be expert escape artists. At first I thought I’d underestimated their leaping ability. I’d noticed that they seemed unusually long legged, but I hadn’t thought… Screw that. They were just sailing over the rails. Okay. Time to fashion a bed sheet playpen topper.
Problem solved.
Um. No.

Seems that my long legged little animals discovered they were also quite lean and if they turned their heads just right their skulls fit through and they had no problem squeezing the rest of their skinny little bodies out the playpen bars.
So I came up with one fix after another, trying to make the pen kitten proof.
I am not proud to admit it, but after two days and dozens of escapes, I finally gave up. They simply overwhelmed me.

Luckily for us all, while Lucy hated their excessively energetic little souls with a white hot passion, her anger turns to retreat rather than attack. Lucy spent her days, those first few weeks, trying to stay away from the kittens, to the point of living in the bathtub. Really! For nearly two weeks I never saw her leave her porcelain sanctuary. I assume she must have come out for food and the box, but I never saw her. I made her a nest of some of my lightly worn clothes (so she’d have my scent as possible(?) comfort) and gave her kitty treats regularly. I put in all her favorite toys and spent some extra time with her, but if that’s where she felt best, I wasn’t going to force her out.

Coco and Esme took over the rest of the house. Not a single inch of the place wasn’t explored (save the bathtub which they didn’t see into for a while). After the cramped shelter confines, they’d found kitty heaven. Of course, being kittens, they were and are hell-bent on destroying it, but that’s a tale for another day.

Eventually Lucy came out of the tub. I suppose she got bored. The kittens, as is kitten nature, made a beeline for her.

Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
Hey! Hello! How are are? You look kinda like a momma cat. Do you want to be our momma cat? Wow! You have a huge long tail? Would you mind if we tasted it?

Lucy was not amused.
Hiss. Growl. Claws out, rapid swats.
Die!

But Lucy didn’t chase the kittens as they backed away, so I decided not to intervene. The kittens were perfectly capable of escaping Lucy’s attacks. All they had to do was avoid her. Lucy never made a single step to pursue them after any encounter, so I figured they’d just learn to leave her be and they’d work out their own equilibrium.

My assumption that they’d learn to avoid Lucy was based on belief that were were endowed with normally functioning brains. In this I was wrong.
It is my current theory, having observed the two of them over these past few months, that they have between them only one working brain cell which they pass back and forth for alternate use. How else can I explain them approaching Lucy over and again, usually one at a time? Every single time, kitten approach triggered Lucy fury. How is it possible they never remembered the genuine evil claw swats I saw Lucy land on them? I would not have thought they’d have to learn that particular lesson over and over again, but it never seemed to sink in. To call the kittens not bright wouldn’t be close to accurate. These tiny felines, hell, I really came to think I might have adopted idiot-kits.

It seems, however, they have finally overwhelmed Lulu the same way they overwhelmed me, through constant exuberant repetition. Just as I got tired of chasing kittens and attempting to corral kittens and finally just gave up, so Lucy has been worn down. Lucy no longer leaves the room when the kittens enter. She no longer growls and hisses when they pass near her. In fact, the only time they get a rise out of her is when they actually touch her. Then she reminds them who’s the biggest cat in the house and I have no problem with that. She’s allowed to be cranky, just not aggressive.

Esme and Coco, on the other hand, seem to be very happy little idiots. They’re exceedingly affectionate to me and to each other. They race and tussle constantly and quite noisily. They do almost everything together. Play. Eat. Sleep. I even caught them using the litter box simultaneously. (Freaks!). They groom each other and purr ecstatically as they do.

All in all, the plan seems to have worked. The kittens are happy and Lucy, while not exactly happy, is out of the bathtub and I can’t imagine that she’s bored.

We close this entry with the obligatory kitten pic.
Esme’s the sleeping darker one.
Coco’s the lighter one who’s looking at the camera.