I know I said I'd never love again and I meant it at the time. Love can be painful. Unfortunately, however, things happen we can't control. So, though I still say I won't love, it seems Grog has. Which means I'm stuck too. For me it's not love but a good bit of like. Typical of Grog, he chose a non-human which may be the only reason I'm allowing it.
Now, I knew I'd probably be the one stuck taking care of the critter most of the time just like I do with Grog. But maybe they could keep each other occupied. If he didn't end up trying to eat it when I wasn't paying attention.
Right away Grog was a little unsure. "Fuzzy cat thing is tiny. It has bitey things on it. Grog need groom it." He was right, though, this thing was covered in fleas. Turns out it also had worms and, at 8 weeks old, they'd made it a mostly outdoor cat. Being the runt of the litter it probably had to fight for every bit of food it got but I think the fleas and worms ate all the nutrients so the poor thing was constantly starving.
First order of business: get the tiny feline free of parasites. A pretty quick and easy undertaking.
It climbed up in my lap right away and fell asleep. Grog just shrugged "we eat it now?" No, monkey man, we aren't going to eat it today. Maybe later. "Ok. Grog make fuzzy cat thing fat first." Good plan. I could only hope he'd change his mind about eating it eventually.
So we got it a box and litter because cats have us trained to bring the outside indoors and give them shitboxes for us to clean. Crafty little devils. Food, box, brush, toy and treats. We went shopping.
I think Grog was already starting to enjoy himself. If he'd had his way we'd have spent an hour playing with cat toys before we picked one out. He's a doofus sometimes but he's my doofus.
Thus began life on the road with a tiny kitten. Grog plays with it and lets it practice its hunting and fighting skills. Ever have a kitten "attack" your hands with impunity? From fingertips to elbow my right arm now looks like Helen Keller used it to write her autobiography. Seriously, it's horrible. My arm is so shredded it's ridiculous. And Grog just laughs and laughs the whole time. "Grog teach kitty thing to be warrior!" Thanks, Grog. Ugh.
We've learned a few things about cats. Like they're manipulative. We have this game that Miss Demeanor started. I pretend I'm a truck driver trying to safely drive an 80,000 pound vehicle and she pretends she doesn't care. Instead she hops up in my lap then slowly claws her way up my shirt to the collar. Then she hangs there and lets her hind legs dangle. I reach out and support her weight so she doesn't tear my shirt to shreds. Once she feels my hand touch her she releases the claws, collapses into my hands and goes to sleep instantly.
Since she's self-centered, if I set her in my lap so I can use that hand she just sits there and stares at me for a few minutes. Then she'll climb back up and we repeat her little game.
I did get to laugh at her once for it. As soon as she started to collapse into my palm I moved my hand. As she landed in my lap she gave me a "hey, asshole, that wasn't funny" type meow. Even Grog chuckled though.
Another fun lesson I learned: cats must be related to squirrels. They'll climb anything. I drive in jeans most of the time now. My legs look like I waded through a briar patch. I'm fairly certain I've lost enough blood to qualify me among the undead.
This little Velcro gymnast does laps sometimes while I'm driving. Fun to watch? Sorta. Except when I'm part of the course. She's started at my ankle and climbed to my shoulder. At a breakneck pace. Countless times. While I'm hurtling us down the highway at 70 mph.
However, I was smart enough to take pictures of her when she's being cute. I did that for her protection. See, that's why kittens are cute to begin with: so you don't kill them. So far so good. Grog doesn't want to cook her up anymore. He actually likes her. She shares our pillow.
Grog was pretty sure his kitten was broken the first time she used the shitbox. Nothing living should ever put off odors like that. "Grog need bury cat." No. Easy fella, she's just going potty. "Kitty thing eat zombie?! Grog see buzzards circle when cat thing poop." Yes, I know. But she will bury it and we got special odor control litter. "Litter is poop covering dirt? Grog think it broken. Grog's eyes leak from smell." It'll be alright. Here, I'll roll the passenger side window down. "Aaaahh! Now it stink AND Grog hot! Kitty trying to kill Grog!"
And so we started the ritual of cleaning the litter box three times a day at minimum. She's cute and cuddly but something is rotten inside her. The good news is she's not food aggressive in the least. She's not aggressive in any way until Grog gets her riled up. I've found he enjoys brushing her two or three times a day though. It relaxes him.
We get up, exercise and get all pumped up then brush the kitten. After we exercise at lunch and dinner we usually follow up with me doing busy work in my head while Grog brushes his little friend. I think things are going to work out well.