There once was a kitten.
Her name was Whimsy. Whimsy Willow.
Or Spawn of Satan…as she was to later be dubbed…
We saved her life.
Do you see those smiles?
There was an ice storm and a liter of kittens was found under the deck of a friend of a friend of mine. The girl had heard the kittens for a few days and had seen no mother. These beautiful kittens were left all alone, in the cold, starving…and at the most, 3 weeks old.
What could we do?
Well, I became her mother, naturally. She loved me. I fed her from a bottle several times a day. I held her, slept with her, took care of her day and night…hissed at her when she was naughty.
What? I’m not kidding.
Her favorite place was in my hood. I carried her around for hours at a time. It was the only way I could get anything done.
I took her to the vet in one of Greyley’s stuffed animal dog carriers. She was so tiny. She liked it in there.
Is she not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?
I’m realizing that it’s taken me a long time to write about this here. I was crazy about this kitten. I LOVED HER.
And she loved me.
Problem was…she didn’t love anyone else BUT me.
We tried. We all really tried. The kids, bless their hearts…they wanted SO badly for her to love them. But she scratched up their hands and arms and legs multiple times a day anytime they got close. Every day for months, they tried to love on her and she didn’t put up with it. Every time Nate walked by, she pounced on his legs and feet and went to town scratching him.
And Alex. Poor, sweet Alex.
She tortured the poor guy. He didn’t know what hit him.
All these years I’ve been in this house, said he. First there’s the loud music, then there’s kids, all the company, and now this monster. I don’t deserve this.
No, you don’t, Alex, no you don’t.
Alex began to back her into the corner. It got ugly. Whimsy became such a handful that I had to make a decision. It was really hard…for me. Everyone else was relieved.
Especially Alex.
We gave her to some friends so we could see her now and then.
When they had a baby, they had to give her away…she was a handful for them too. Even longtime cat lovers whom I consider to be professional “cattakers” didn’t know what to do with Whimsy. They’d try to play with her and she’d have a conniption.
She was a wild thing.
But I loved her.
And she loved me.
The End.