Every so often John and I have a *lively* debate on our pets...or lack thereof. I really DO like animals, but ever since having kids, I am just not mentally capable of cleaning up after one more thing that poops. Nothing personal. I am literally pooped out.
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One night during dinner, John and I were discussing Tweed's upcoming birthday. Out of the blue, John said "We should surprise Twain with a kitten for his birthday".
I'm about to shoot down this crazy idea, when all of a sudden, I had a vision, if you will.
I picture John and the boys sitting happily around a kitten.
And I was the only one standing in the way of their happiness.
Without thinking much further, I said,
"Alright! Let's get Twainy a kitty for his birthday!"
Oi. Once the words were out of my mouth, I knew I could not retract...
It did not take long before John and his mom(a fellow pet lover) were plotting to get a kitty.
I mean, really, the two of them are hilarious. Within a few days, they have checked out 3 places and have found THE kitty.
I requested an orange kitty. Because our boys love orange stuffed kitties. But there were no orange kitties around at the time, so they brought back a peach one. And hid peach kitty at Grandma's til we were ready to surprise Twain. Keep in mind, I had nothing to do with any of their shenanigans and had no idea what this mystery peach kitty looked like.
Through all this, I kept waffling back and forth between, "What have I gotten myself into????!!!!" and "I can't WAIT to see the look on Twain's face! I'm so excited I'm gonna wet my pants!!!!" Back to "Oh NO! The kitty might whiz all over my floors!!!!"
However, imagining Twain's joy was just enough to keep me going.
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Sunday morning. The big unveiling. John, Finn and Calvin went to Grandma's house to fetch kitty, while I waited at home with Ollie and Twain. I felt butterflies in my stomach as we waited for them to arrive.
John comes in and places a wrapped shoe box on the floor. The lid was wrapped separate from the box. All Twain has to do is lift the lid.
Here goes.
Go on Tweedle.
Almost. Almost. I'm poised with camera in hand to meet this mystery critter.
The next moment is a blur. Twain lifts the lid and stares in complete shock and awe at the peach kitty.
In a flash, kitty hops out of the box and beelines under the console. She's quick. This bodes well for her, ha.
With Twain hot on her heels.
And Ollie not too far behind. Well peek-a-boo little peachy-poo!
The poor kitty is petrified. And Twain looks longingly, as Peach finds safety in the arms of her daddy.
I call her Peach, Finn calls her Peanut. We shall continue this raging debate til wee hours of the morning, I imagine. I actually wanted a boy kitty so we could name him Peeta from Hunger Games. Dead Serious.
Twain keeps smiling and saying "The kitty jumped out of my present!". Over and over again.
My pantry looking ghetto, yikes.
By afternoon, Peach is warming up to her new stalkers and starts to come out of hiding.
There was an air of anticipation in the house. Kind of like when you bring a new baby home from the hospital. Minus the nursing and c-section of course.
There were visitors. Lots of little visitors. The neighbors had to come welcome our newest member.
That afternoon, I went frantically shopping at Target to buy more supplies: toys, silver bowls(hey, only the best for my Peachy-peach), scratching post(gift from Grandma) and dreaded litter box and scooper.
I seriously almost started a wet/dry log, like I made for my boys when they were newborns, to chart her potty progress.
You guys. I can't stand the kitty litter box. She will eventually be an outdoor cat. She sometimes kicks the litter onto the kitchen floor and I'm like Hazmat cleaning up the diseased pellets with gloves and lysol.
Meanwhile, she is sleeping in Twain's bed at night. Cool.
For the last few nights, she has been snuggling up at the foot of his bed. The first night, Twain woke us up at midnight to inform us that kitty pooped on the floor. I let John get that one.
John said kitty and Twain were having a party, playing at 3 in the morn. Yup, Twain was GRUMPY as ever the next day.
Overall, we are in kitty heaven over here. Ollie is obsessed beyond obsessed. Like in love. He keeps dragging the pet taxi into his room and wants to lock her up, to keep her safe.
But we are also still adjusting. There have been tears. And tantrums. Over who gets to hold kitty and play with her. At one point Ollie was screaming bloody murder because kitty was napping and would not play with him.
Finn and Calvin dote on her too. Here's Calvin, giving her a helicopter ride. I overheard him saying, "Kitty, we are going on a trip to New York! And then we are going back to the United States". Baha. He has his mother's geography. Poor kid.
And the moment I have been waiting for...
Twain finally gets a chance to hold kitty.
So. Much as I really hate to admit this. I'm in WUV with Peachyweachy.
Happy 3rd Birthday Tweeds! I hope you can tell how much I love you, by letting this varmint inhabit my house.
