A Kitten in the House

She is curious, playful, fearless, adventurous and into everything she can find. She's learned her name and responds and at night she leaps into bed beside me, announcing her presence with a high pitched but delicate squeak of a meow. Nose to nose with the black dog, she refuses to back down even when warned away by a lip curling, low growl. At her approach, the small brown dog watches her with wide eyes, having learned not to wag her tail and invite an attack but rather stay still and hope she will be unmolested. The black cat, an expert prowler and pouncer, hides around corners and on top of tables, waiting for the opportunity to spring and initiate a wild chase while the tabby and the other black and white cat stand back and watch, philosophically resigned to this youngster's presence. The half persian narrows her eyes and strategically retreats, willing to share her space only at meals. Such is life with a new kitten - rowdy, surprising, joyful, unexpectedly comical and always a tiny bit on the edge. I patiently snatch her away from a dish of pearl necklaces, replace the pictures she knocks over, pick up the cup of pencils she spills, detach her from the couch she climbs with razor like claws, rescue her from the edge of a sink of soapsuds and untangle her from a basket of laundry that she has pulled onto the floor where it falls on top of her and traps her. I scold, lecture, and fuss and all the while she pretends to listen while in reality, she is planning her next assault - there are waste baskets to be overturned, cushions to be carried off, paper towels to be ravaged and shredded and of course, curtains to be scaled like a rock wall on a playground. I see all this in her eyes - she is on a mission of mischief and is undeterred by danger or discipline or consequences. Such is life with a new kitten - loud, funny, messy, a little out of control and always a tiny bit on the very brink of disaster. Don't you ever sleep? I demand of her as she discovers a bookcase and begins a carefully organized campaign to pull each and every book off and onto the floor. She gives me that misunderstood, unappreciated look and twines around my ankles, purring sweetly and lovingly and then spying a squirrel on the fence outside the window, is off like a shot from a cannon, vaulting onto the breakfast table and headlong into the mini blinds, where the entire mess comes apart and she and it tumble to the ground. Nothing is hurt save her dignity - the squirrel is long gone, and the kitten walks away with head held high and tail switching. The mini blinds are not as fortunate and they lay in a heap of broken slats and tangled cords, one more minor casualty of life with a new kitten. The shower curtain is next to go - it comes down in an avalanche of vinyl and metal, crashing into the porcelain with ear splitting force as a small, black and white blur rushes past me in the hall and toward the kitchen where just minutes later I find her, looking innocent and deceptively uninvolved. I begin to wonder if we will all survive her kittenhood - she is just six months old, a far distance from the quiet, affectionate and dignified cat I hope she will become. The urge to wring her little neck passes as she slips into my arms and curls up for a brief nap before resuming the great adventure. These small moments of peace make it all worthwhile.