Maybe George Isn't The Right Name After All

I think I should have called her Damien.

The first few days that George was home she was pretty skittish. If I moved anywhere near her, she would bolt under the couch or under the bed. Now, I can't take a step without getting swooped on. She's got a total foot fetish and she's always trying to swat at my toes or nibble on them.

She also didn't spend a lot of time within petting range. I think she didn't want to get picked up so she kept her distance. Now, I can't sit on the couch or in my bed without getting constantly walked on or used as a launching pad for tables, chairs or my nightstand.

The laptop is her favorite landing spot, however. I keep it on a little table in front of the couch and there's a constant back and forth war. She climbs out to the edge of my leg and prepares to leap. I pick her up and move her to the floor or the couch right before she can jump. This goes on the whole time I'm on the machine.

Hmmm, what happens if I press this?

Back in the day (which was only a week ago), she wouldn't venture into a room on her own unless I spent time in there with her first. The house exploration has been slow but steady because of that. The second bedroom is the ultimate safety zone since her box and food are in there and that's the first place she hung out. The living room was conquered next then my bedroom.

Just yesterday, she ventured into the bathroom while I was getting ready for work. Great. Now, I have to keep the hair dryer and curling iron cords from dangling or they're going to come down hard. I also expect the drawers to get opened very soon. I might have to have The Rocket Scientist baby-proof them.

This morning, I decided to read my paper at the dining room table. It's not an area I use very much so she hadn't explored. Within minutes, she'd figured out that she could get up to the table via the chairs. Mental note: keep chairs pushed firmly in at all times.

The only room left to visit is the kitchen. Not surprisingly, I don't spend a lot of time in there. It doesn't take that long to get a beverage out of the fridge and she hasn't bothered to follow me.

Your water is so much better than mine!

BTW, I was at the dining room table because I actually wanted to read the paper. I usually do that in bed each morning (part of the routine) but it's not that easy when you have a feline cannonball exploding into it every other minute. The other minute is spent chewing and shredding the edges of the paper. Never the section I've finished with, though. It's always the one I'm trying to read at the moment.

George was particularly wound up this morning. I can't imagine why since we didn't sleep much. Apparently, play time was announced for 2:30 AM and 4:30 AM but I missed the memo. Nothing like getting woken up by someone sitting on your head and chewing your hair.

I found a strategy to get my paper read but it did require multi-tasking. I have a laser pointer and I ran it all over the house with one hand while turning the pages with the other. I needed a third hand to eat breakfast with but you just can't have everything, I guess. I don't get to eat breakfast very easily anway. My waffles or fruit or oatmeal are all apparently catnip coated since she wants to eat them.

This cute mug is what's keeping me alive and stopping me from getting booted off the furniture.

For those folks who told me that kittens were high maintenance and that I should adopt an older cat, you're right. About the first part. I think I'm good with the kitten part despite her habits. She's so darn cute and she's "my" cat. I love being someone's favorite.