Awwww, precious Kiki.
Did I tell you how Kiki came to be ours? She was dumped at the local Humane Society right after having babies... without her babies. I had read about her on the website before we went to look at cats, but I didn't consider her because I figured she'd be grouchy, separated from her brood and all.
Mabel and I went to the shelter last Friday evening and we played with a couple of kitties that I saw online, all the while walking back and forth past one-year-old Kiki (then named Orion). When I determined that the other two females they had weren't going to be a good fit for my kids I was ready to leave. Then a little white paw reached out and gently tapped me on the leg.
I looked down.
The little white paw poked back out of the cage and tapped Mabel's foot. "KEEE-KEEE!" she screamed and pointed. So, we spent some time with "Orion" and Mabel poked, thumped, sat on, and humiliated the poor cat repeatedly. The cat kept purring and reaching out for us to pet her. She sat on Mabel's lap. She wanted love. She didn't have her babies anymore, but she wanted someone to love her.
So we took her home and all of us do just that. And she is a very, very good girl.
But that's not the end of the story.
Like all of us, Kiki does have some insecurities. She also has a very bad habit that is awfully embarrassing.
She's a farter, Folks. Big ole' pooter.
The cat can leave a stench that will engulf a room in 3 seconds flat. Flowers wilt and Mabel's hair goes straight. The boys (who gleefully relish a good toot) even have to leave the room. I keep looking for poop everywhere, thinking she's had an accident on the carpet. All the time, I'm walking around looking for poop. Nope. There she sits preening herself, looking slightly humiliated. And a little relieved.
Should I be concerned? Is there a remedy for cat gas? IT IS LETHAL, I TELL YOU! They could bottle and sell this to combat terrorism!
I've got it figured out, though. You see, on Kiki's first night in the house she spent a lot of time up and moving around, exploring in the night. She woke me up 762 times. Each time I woke up I thought I had a robber in the house. I sat up in bed and frantically thought of what I could take into the living room as a weapon.
No baseball bat upstairs (mental note: bring Trevor's bat upstairs). A shoe? I could pummel an invader with the heel of one of my shoes!!! I didn't have a lot of choices and it's been bothering me for days.
In the nights since, I snuck out to investigate middle-of-the-night noises a couple of times and sure enough, there was Kiki, prowling around all proud of herself. (Probably pooting, too. Smelly Cat.) I pinched my nose, went back to bed and thought about it some more.
I realized I do have a weapon. I have Kiki.
If a stranger ever breaks into the house, I'm grabbing the cat.
"LOOK HERE, MISTER! I HAVE A CAT WITH LETHAL TOOTS AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO SQUEEZE HER!"