I just realized that it's been exactly five months since I revealed to the world that I got a kitten. Which means that I've let exactly five months go by without giving an update. This must be remedied immediately.
In that post, I mentioned the little guy's boundless energy and the toll it was taking on my ability to sleep. It wasn't long before every cat owner I knew was telling me, "You know, kittens do better in pairs. They take their energy out on each other rather than on you." And after just one week of sleepless nights, I was ready to try anything. So I called up the adoption place and begged for mercy. The nice lady informed me that if I adopt a litter mate, the fee is half off for the second beast. I told her to get her shoes on 'cause I was on my way over. Within an hour, I was bringing home my fuzzball's little sister.
I would soon find out that putting the two together would take a load of stress off of me, but that relief would have to wait a bit. I got home and practically bounded to my door with the pet carrier to reunite the siblings. I opened the door and called out, "Hey, buddy, I'm home!" and he came running to greet me. I hadn't turned lights on yet, and in the dim room, it looked like he was bringing me something he had found. And he had found something alright. As he got close to the open door, I could see that he had a fishing lure dangling from his lip. I don't know how he found my fishing pole, but he did, and there was my lure. And the funny thing was that the little doofus was completely oblivious that he had been pierced. He almost seemed proud of his new adornment. He looked up at me and mewed as if to say, "Check out what I did today!"
I got the wire cutters to cut the barb off, but holding him still enough to cut through it was at least a two-hand task, leaving me no hands to snip with. Again, oblivious to his predicament, he didn't squirm out of pain, he just wanted to go play. So I called my sister and bro-in-law (who only knew about the first kitten) and asked if they could help me with "something." I loaded both animals in the carrier and went over to sis's apartment. I started explaining about the fish hook and opened the carrier and he bounded out, as curious as ever. A few moments later, the second kitty slowly crept out as well, and there was rejoicing all around.
It took all six hands to subdue the little guy long enough for me to clip the barb off the hook and pull it from his mouth. As you can hear me saying in the second video, one of the other barbs on the treble hook cut his upper lip too. But he didn't care. As soon as it was out, he was bounding around the room like an idiot with his new playmate.
Finally, it was time to name the little rascals. Personally, I thought that Knock It Off and Get Down From There suited them perfectly, but for the sake of their veterinary records, proper names were in order. So I'd like you meet Mojo, the boy cat, and Presley, the wee lass. Mojo is a gray tabby whose name came from a commercial for the Transformers movie. Bone Junior got naming rights for Presley, only because she insisted on naming something of mine and I refused to let her name my car (I think naming cars is as stupid as dressing your pets), and didn't want to name the boy Elvis. Her vet papers say that she is a Diluted Tortiseshell, which is quite true, even though this picture makes her look more like some type of bat.
In the past 5 months, they've chewed on my blinds, gotten shots, peed on my laundry, chewed through expensive audio cable, purred on my lap, gotten their reproductive organs removed, scarred my flesh, and warmed my heart. And peed on my laundry again. I'm kinda sad that they hardly look like kittens anymore, but they've definitely calmed down some, and I'll be glad when they're completely lazy old farts like me.
More pictures here.