The Kitten Story of Kit Katticus the White Delight el Gordito

This is a true story, based on actual events, witnessed through a dream and a haze.

On the last night of winter, tipping into spring first thing in the morning, I cuddled into bed under my sheets and blankets and tucked my head gratefully onto the pillow. I was tired. The bed jostled mightily, and up strolled to my face our most fiesty kitty, Kit Kat White. He who has many names; Kit Kat, Katticus, Kit Kat White You Fuck!

Rescued four years ago, almost to this exact day, he has a secret side only Husbando or I ever witness. In bed, under cover of shadows and on the cusp of dreaming, Kit Kat is a stealth snuggler. And he purrs with the roar of a diesel engine.

And that was his mission on the Eve of Ostara, to cram his plump furry body against mine, tucked half under the blankets where he had wiggled himself in against my side, and demand in a mighty purr that I scratch just between his ears and along the side of his neck, but nowhere else on fear of biting and leaving indignantly. I chuckled sleepily and complied with his demands, and I was so content, in my deep fluffy blankets and spooning my warm rumbling cat.

This was all very normal of the evening, even though it was a closely guarded secret in the day. His dignity and reputation for grand trouble making couldn’t hold up in the daylight if anyone else knew his secret cuddle dalliances. But then it all got very weird.

Looking into half lidded slitted cat eyes, I felt like I began to drift away. Still petting the cat, still looking around the bedroom with a tiny sleepy smile, I began to hear and see something else. And so my most mischievous fur child revealed to me, in many fuzzy cottonball memories The Kitten Story of Kit Katticus the White Delight el Gordito.

It began with the milk scented dreams of Mother, and that was how we knew her because she smelled like Mothers should and we loved her the most in the whole world at that time. There was surely a Father, who had been there during her time of season, but we’d never met him and didn’t feel a care to.  Then there were memories of our first rivals, which were occasionally siblings when we were very tired and a little cold and wanted to cram into a pile for warmth, but mostly had to be pushed away from Mother so that we could have more milk. There were three, or six, or eight rivals, too many in any case because we wanted more of Mother to ourselves. Some were more adoring kittens, some more dignified, and one was a very timid and shy kitten, but we were a fiend. We grew and became rambunctious. We tumbled and grappled and had no qualms about biting and hissing. We were a tiny chubby terror, and we felt Mother’s distinct pleasure that we should be so; a very catty cat indeed. When she groomed us, which was wonderful and annoying all at once, she would purr in a bed shaking grumble that we would choose to imitate as we grew older, and we would feel her love of our antics. We could always detect upon her many whiskered face a clever cat grin, so pleased that she had spawned such a brat cat as us.

The final memory shared was a sad one, full of cold  and mistrust, as Kit Kat White was taken away from Mother, much too soon, and too little, despite how unruly and independent he may have behaved. Luckily cat sadness swiftly passes, since cat’s have better thoughts to be having. Many about eating and destroying.

But as I drifted just a little past the hazy half thoughts we were sharing into real sleep he sent one last contented memory feeling my way. That despite how he was in the daylight, the bane of our other two cat’s existence, sometimes when he was very tired and a little cold and wanted to cram into a pile for warmth, he loved us most in the whole world, and that right now I smelled just like Mothers should.

Keeping a sharp eye

Keeping a sharp eye

Published in: on March 22, 2015 at 9:08 am  Leave a Comment  
Tags: , , , ,

The URI to TrackBack this entry is:

RSS feed for comments on this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: