Trouble on Four Paws

It was a cold day when one pretty-looking, though skinny, cat came to our door and gave her best meow ever. Being suckers for tiny little buggers on four legs, we let her in, knowing little what we were getting ourselves into. After a month or so of proper feeding and care, she turned into an adorable she-cat. ‘Fluffy’ we named that pretty bundle of fur who elicited more than a healthy dose of petting and ‘oohhhhs’ and ‘ahhhhs’ from our friends and relatives.

We were more than excited when Fluffy gave birth to her first kitten. It was as adorable as its mom. Four months later, Fluffy ushered in four more kittens into this world, proving that she was capable of giving birth to more than one kitten at a time and the first time was just a demo!

As soon as those four “trouble-on-four-paws” turned a month old, I realised with much dismay that they could now move around and do whatever they want. For example, they could enter my room and try their tiny paws at playing Tarzan. Playing is good, playing is very good, I agree. The problem is after they are done, the curtains in my room have their threads coming out and the room resembles a war zone.

I have this nasty habit of leaving my stuff, including magazines, newspapers and other important papers, lying about practically everywhere, which is just a nice way of saying I’m a slob who dumps things everywhere on the floor. Taking advantage of this, those puny demons decided one fine day that those papers would make a nice replacement for their litter tray.

So one fine evening, after I came home and entered my room, I felt like I’d stepped on something mushy. A look at my right shoe and everything became clear and at the same time nauseating: cat poop was squishing from the sides of my shoe and the whole room was reeking of ammonia. The putrid smell turned the insides of my guts. Only a quick scan of the room was required to see that those tiny monsters had laid nice sized land mines and piss pools all over my room taking special care not to leave anything untouched that remotely resembled paper!

As I looked around for those tiny buggers to teach them a lesson, Mom interfered, “That’s because you don’t keep your room clean.”

“Yeah, wait till they start doing that in your room,” I retorted. Incidentally, they soon started doing that not only in her room but anywhere that took their fancy.

Besides taking their potty breaks in my room, they also soon realised that my freshly painted walls would work nicely as emery paper replacement to sharpen their claws on. “You know when cats sharpen their claws?” I asked them with an unmistakable tinge of contempt in my voice, “When they are ready to go a-hunting. You guys are no bigger than over-fed mice and you think you can take on a sewer rat! Now that’s funny.”

Despite those insults, they surprisingly exhibited no signs of anger; they didn’t sulk, neither did they relieve themselves in my room that day. Maybe they’ve realised they shouldn’t mess with me, I gloated at the thought. That’s where I went wrong, as I was to find out later.

After a particularly tiring day at work, I came back home, picked up a tee-shirt lying on my bed, put it on, and started channel surfing. It took me only a couple of minutes to realise the kittens had taken a pee break somewhere nearby. The only problem was that I couldn’t identify the exact spot. I checked all the rooms but couldn’t find the mess. Wherever I went, the stench followed me. Realisation then dawned – the stench was coming from nowhere else but my tee-shirt! The puny Beelzebubs!

When it comes to being anti-establishment, cats are pretty hardcore. Don’t believe me? Wait till I send the feline demolition squad over to your place.