TORNADO IN THE HOUSE……..or… THE THUNDER OF TINY PAWS

After the sad loss of our dear 16 year old ginger boy, we were sitting idly musing on whether or not we should get a rescue cat as a companion to the Big Girl. We debated what would be better - an older girl to be a 'chum' with? Not likely, she's not too much of a 'girly' girl- more of a 'Out of the Way - Me First' girl. Or perhaps an older neutered tom, who could be a suitably respectful 'courtier' to her Dowager Queen of The World-ness?

As we hummed and haaah-ed, the doorbell rang, and there stood our son and his girlfriend, holding a large cardboard box, inside which was a very small kitten that they had bought us as a surprise. Surprise? Yikes! I hadn't been planning on rearing a baby anything at my time of life, but here we are, parents again - like it or not. And, or course, we do like, in fact we all totally love her.

She is a dear little black and cream striped tabby, with a pretty little white frill under her chin and white socks. We thought, when she was very small, that she would be a silver tabby - and named her Humbug - because she is very sweet and was black and white striped. But now she's 8 weeks old she is clearly going to be more brown and black striped, and really looks more like an Everton Mint (you need to be a little au fait with British confectionery to really get this). However, we felt that when she gets older, unless you are a football fan, going out and calling for "Everton!" really isn't on. So we added "Mitzi" to the Humbug. And now she's Humbug Mitzi. Though the words most often heard round here are either - "Where is she?" (probably halfway up somewhere she shouldn't be) or - "Get Off!" - relating to absolutely anything else. She also thinks that eating buttered toast is a group activity.

She can climb so fast that we're convinced she must have monkey genes in there somewhere. She's covered most of the easier accessible shelves - which are above waist high to me, and that's no mean feat when you are about knee high to a grasshopper, but with steely determination. And a couple of times recently I've found her sitting on the back of the settee and eying the pictures hanging on the wall in a thoughtful sort of way. 'Hmmmm - if I really jumped I might just manage to get a paw on to that bottom frame …'

Our vet remarked that kittens have two speeds - Fast and Asleep. Maybe, but we clearly have the Turbo-charged edition. She moves so quickly that wherever you saw her last, is definitely not where she is now. We wonder that such puny little striped legs can move so fast. And the noise! The room resounds to the thunder of tiny paws. Downstairs is now a kitten assault course. Plus the floor is dotted with toys and screwed up bits of paper that she has been chasing. One of her favourites is the box that the scratching post came in. Typical. She's also taken a small plastic crate and claimed it as her 'toy box' . This is where she puts her favourites - at the moment; two wrappers off mini-Bounty bars (nice and crinkly), two bits of mauve velvet ribbon (nice and soft), and one of my husband's socks that she has taken a great fancy to (don't ask).

She is also a total diva. Some kittens are shy and timid with visitors - not her. She brings out all her repertoire of jumping, twirling, hiding, peek-aboo, cute, stalking and usually, as a finale, a sort of crazed spinning Catherine wheel which is the signal to pick her up and tell her to calm down. It's totally "Look at meeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" She's a whizzing ball of fur, and with nippy little teeth as well.

The Big Girl has tried to keep a dignified distance from all this unseemly youthful exuberance. They have met and greeted - nose to nose - and the Biggie gave a sort of "You mind your manners, my girl" hiss and rumble , and the babe sat down. Then the babe just bounced up again and did a "SO….wanna play?", and Biggie girl rushed off in horror, grumbling loudly.

We make sure that Biggie can carry on as normal - meaning she goes up to doze in peace and quiet on the bed during the day, and eats her meals unharrassed in the kitchen (so far!). However, any attempts at barricading the kitchen have now come to an end, as the little Spring-heeled Menace can clear anything we produce in one bound. She also fell with glee on the large cat litter tray (with fine clumping cat litter) with the delight of a child discovering a sand-box. So much more fun than her little girl's one with safe recycled paper litter. And look how far this stuff will go when you bounce in it! Out with the dustpan and brush again.

At night we lock the Mitzi Blitz in a large dog cage that we bought for our Old Boy as a convalescent room. Now it's doing great service as a night nursery for the tiddler, so that no harm can come to her - or our house- overnight. And if any feline intruders do get in through the cat flap, they won't get to her. Or her to them, come to that. I did worry about her going outside and how she will cope with the Big Outdoors - but now I'm thinking of having warning notices posted to prepare the rest of the world. Perhaps we should have called her Mimi - Me! Me! MEEE!

© Thelma Mitchell April 2006