Fried kitten

The other day, I was making toasted cheese sandwiches on a griddle on the stove. I turned off the stove but left the griddle on the burner — I learned the hard way that I have to keep the cats from walking across the hot stove, so I keep a pot of water or something over the burner until it is completely cool.

So a little while later I looked at the stove, and my heart stopped. Cleo the horrible kitten — still a little brain-damaged — was sitting on the griddle. Once I saw that she wasn’t maimed, I had to laugh. I guess the residual heat felt good on her little tushy.

Really makes you want to eat at my house, huh?

We haven’t set the tree up yet. I’m dreading keeping the kitten out of the tree. The year we got Boo, he chewed the tiny glass light bulbs. I don’t know how he didn’t get shocked. The only way I trained him and Princess to stay out of the tree was to squirt them with water bottles. Pretty safe with a tree full of lights.

This Christmas, Keas has adopted a kitten. I’m not sure she realizes it’s just an ornament. She hunkered down over it and would not allow us to have it. You’d never guess it to look at her here, but Keas is a mean drunk. Every year, we give the cats stockings with colorful mice, cat food, and cat toys, but their favorite gift is always a new scratch box full of fresh cat nip. Boo will climb on the scratch box and let the kids slide him around like a car. Princess likes it, but she’s way to genteel to wallow. But Keas — she goes crazy. She’ll hug the bag of catnip and will charge any cat who dares to get on the scratchbox. Last year she knocked Boo right off the box. We pulled her away, and first chance, she went airborn, about to land on Boo. My daughter snagged her right out of the air and took her to her room to sober … I mean calm down.

About alisaacarter

I am a writer of young adult novels, wife, mom of three, lover of animals, former magazine editor, reader of anything paranormal, and coffee fanatic.
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