The Kitten

Growing up in an animal free home, I never understood people who cried when their pets died. I figured you would just get another cat. Or more goldfish. Or God forbid, another dog. I don't like dogs. Never have and probably never will. My uncle would say that my fear of dogs is just another manifestation of my latent homosexuality. The truth is that I fear dogs because one bit me when I was four. And they stink and shit in inconvenient places and make noise and are generally unbearable.

My wife Sarah grew up with cats, or to be exact, a cat. The same cat lived in the house on Highcliff for 17 years, and passed away mercifully at the vet's office, the victim of that procedure delicately known as "being put down." Curiosity didn't kill that cat, the vet did. Never mind that Colours lived to the human age of 80 and was blind, lame and generally useless; her death was a traumatic event for nearly everyone in the family, even my mother-in-law who loved to affect an imaginary hatred for Sarah's beloved pet. Sarah has always looked forward to getting another cat - we weren't allowed to have pets in either the shoebox apartment we called home in Japan for the last eight years or in the palatial two bedroom in which we now reside in Christchurch.

I have been a pet owner for a week. A quick call to the landlady, a sob story about a blind, lame, and recently deceased cat, an upcoming birthday, and some creative gift giving resulted in a small bundle of tortoise shell and white coloured fur sharing/invading/overtaking my living space. We named the kitten Kirin, after the best beer in Japan.

So this kitten playfulness is all new to me, and yes, she is hilarious. From the near suicidal leaps from the sofa onto the coffee table to the running start to climb up the back of Sarah's right leg to express displeasure at Sarah's decision to wash dishes to the way she goes apeshit with a box of tissues, Kirin is excellent value. This kitten is equal parts pro wrestler (the back of the dining table chair is her top turnbuckle), gymnast, sloth (sleeps 16 hours a day) , kangaroo (she loves hopping on her back feet), and retarded ballerina.

And I don't want to hear that every other kitten does the same thing. "All kittens are playful," my coworkers say. "Kitten love jumping, they love tissues, and they absolutely love to climb on you," says another cat owning friend. I DON'T CARE! Please just let me think that my kitten does double back flips from a wet coaster onto a piece of plastic just because she wants to impress me. Period.