SOUR KITTY

Since our adult cat is so Vaughn-o-phobic and Vaughn is so crazy about cats, we decided a cute Christmas present would be a new addition to the family in the form of a kitten. Now, typically, I get my pets from the Human Society, but frankly, their prices have become exorbitant, and I decided to look elsewhere this time around. I found some kitties listed by a non-profit low-cost spaying and neutering clinic. They had cat pictures posted on Petfinder and they wanted a nominal fee, so I e-mailed an inquiry. It turned out that they were located in Eastern Oregon and there would be no way to meet the kitten before committing to it. I decided, probably unwisely, to trust the person I was corresponding with, and after e-mailing back and forth about what we were looking for (a sturdy, not-too-young, not hissy or wild kitten who likes to cuddle. Actually, that sounds like a description of my husband, except for the kitten part. Hmmm), we committed to a little tortoiseshell. She sounded great, except for the one small glaring word "shy." Now, shy can mean a whole host of things, but from my experience with kittens, it's rarely good. Going against my better judgment, I decided to commit and pick her up on the scheduled drop off date. She was so cute, but very tiny. I really have no idea how old she is (they didn't say), but she is most definitely not the recommended adoption age of 4 months old.

I got her home and put her in a room where she couldn't hide, or so I thought. She immediately leapt out of her carrier and lodged herself between the wall and the entertainment center, requiring me to move an 100+-pound entertainment center to extract her.

Two days later, she still hides the minute you come into the room and acts as if she's never met you before. Once you catch her, she does purr and cuddle, I'll give her that much. This whole time she rarely ate, and consequently never peed or pooped. Until today, that is. Evidently the litter box that is 20 times her size and we have strategically placed right next to her carrier where she sleeps was not enough of a hint. When she finally did poop, she pooped in the carrier, where she sleeps.

I have now come to the conclusion that we have a lemon (not, as my husband commented, "lemon-fresh") kitten. As disconcerted as I was about her waste drop-off point, Vaughn was excitedly commenting that the poop will "Grow bigger and bigger, and then it'll grow into poop flowers and we'll have a BIIIIGGGG CELEBRATION!" Not if these "poop flowers" blossom in my carpet.

As an early celebratory act, Vaughn decided he would poop as well to mark the occasion, resulting in one big poop-fest. Ah the stench. Fortunately, at least one preadolescent in this house knows where to put his poop.