It's eleven o'clock--do you know where your pets are??
Incidentally, I don't. One six-pound lump of black fur is currently spreading the love, and the fur, all across my newly cleaned comforter. what is it about clean, fresh-smelling things that seems to invite smelly creatures to jump all over them? maybe it's some evil gene in animals, that they must systematically seek out and violate all those things that bring us joy. like this pink heart-shaped inflatable pillow i had a few years ago--don't ask me why i had a pink heart-shaped inflatable pillow, it was a confused time in my life. i happily paid far too much for its Taiwanese craftsmanship and wasted precious oxygen blowing it up, only to have a murderous feline treat it like a personal pincushion in a matter of days. nights, actually; they always attack by night. in my family, since i'm usually the one who gets captivated by some adorable animal in the humane society and convinces the rest of the family that the fuzzball would be a fabulous and entirely cost-efficient addition, i am usually the one to whom the new acquisitions attach themselves for a certain period of time. this suits everyone else because i am thus the one that suffers most in terms of property damages and initial i-dont-trust-you-yet-you-filthy-human injuries.
one of these cat-astrophes *terrible pun intended*, cinnamon, is now the image of sweetness and docility. not so when she arrived. this little she-beast insisted upon inhabiting my room, and insisted equally on wreaking total havoc on my possessions under cover of darkness. it was pure accident, my family claimed, that in her travels she knocked everything fragile onto the floor, clawed the sides of chairs, knocked over the lamp repeatedly, and seemingly took pleasure in making the maximum amount of rustling, cracking and thumping noises possible at ungodly hours of night and morning. it didn't help that i often awoke--angrily, of course--to aim a sock, shoe, or other handy missile at the source of the noise, causing even more damage and never, obviously, hitting the target. they come equipped with night vision, the little buggers. this same cat had an unnatural obssession, in kittenhood, with all things paper. she would be utterly fascinated for hours with a crumpled ball of paper. any papery sounds brought her running, eyes fixed on the prize. and pieces of paper left out unawares were the greatest prize of all, as i learned when i walked into my room one night to find her chewing delightedly on my homework. my cat literally ate my homework--not completely of course; she managed to chew off one corner before my screaming and yelling disturbed her. naturally, everyone besides me thought her behavior was hysterical.
thankfully for me and my sanity, kittens get older and calm down, though that cat will, if she's in my room at night, still untertake adventures to explore my closet or behind my chair, causing the familiar nocturnal cacophany. but after kittens grow older, there is room for a new pet. i wasn't actually looking for a pet, really; i happened to be in the humane society with my mom and my friend who was staying with us at the time, and suddenly i discovered the most adorable black kitty with incredibly piercing yellow eyes. our last three cats had been tortoiseshells, a sort of newfound family tradition, but i had always wanted an all-black cat. so we waited in line for an hour and went into the little room where you're supposed to get acquainted. my mom wasn't exactly fond of her because the cat showed no interest in us whatsoever--she explored, and didn't run, but she didn't purr when we petted her. anti-social from the start, just my type.
and you know what's funny? there was a lot more to this post, but it screwed up and didn't go up right.and no way am i typing the rest of it again! long story short, hell in the beginning, but i always love my cats in the end. same with people, sometimes. technology sucks.