Writing 101: Cats = Love

Yeah, let’s just be honest, guys: uncertainty/regret were the words that jumped out to me from today’s prompt. However, I’m sick to death of those words. Instead, I’m focusing on love because I LOVE my kitten and she is underrepresented on this blog (in contrast to my Instagram).

We do not talk about Bertha Mason. Largely because I don’t trust you not to steal her, people of the internet.

Bertha Mason takes her name from the madwoman in Jane Eyre. I’m hoping we can avoid a situation in which she burns the house down and severely injures any members of the household. It hasn’t been quite a month since Bertha Mason joined the family, but I’m already insanely attached to her. Since she was a stray, she’s still a bit skittish, though she’s very affectionate and quite brazen. The other cat, Joey, is 10 but has already succumbed to her intimidation techniques.

BM on left.

Bertha Mason’s rules for intimidation of other creatures are as follows (apparently since I started making lists I can’t stop):

1. Make eye contact with your object of intimidation while biting the shit out of something nearby: wicker chair, a beloved toy, stairs. Pretty sure this is also a mafia intimidation technique.
2. Follow him constantly. CONSTANTLY.
3. If you see him approaching, run up, swipe at his face, hiss, and run away. Repeat.
4. Make yourself look huge even if you are only 5 pounds. It’s helpful if you’re really fuzzy.
5. Chase him around the house and don’t relent. Once he’s on the run, keep him on the run. (Bertha Mason is preparing for her future as a military strategist).
6. Sit or stand above him and try to hit him in the ear.
7. Eat his food slowly and deliberately while making eye contact. Do this even if you’re not really hungry.

In the past month or so, Bertha Mason has become a lap cat without losing her edge. She has to wear cat hats occasionally, but not too often because I love her and want her to be happy. I don’t think it’s possible to love her more.

Cathatted.

I’m already not looking forward to getting her spayed. I know it’s necessary, but I feel like a Nazi for essentially forcing her to be sterilized. And I really hate making a decision that chooses fewer kittens over more, but they would be kittens of neglect and possibly grow up to be serial killer cats. …Or President of the United States. Sorry, I think the pro-lifers have gotten to me.