Nikki Yeager

My poor kitten must think he got adopted by some heartless, kitty-murdering scumbags. 

Day number 1 in our cozy little apartment was great! We hugged our little Macaroni Cheesy Doodles, we let him run around the living room and he snuggled on the couch with us. His little kitten brain must have been near explosion with excitement after being in a tiny box for the first 8 weeks of his life. In all my excitement I even went overboard on the toy buying and tried to compensate for his lack of kitty-friends by coming home with bag after bag of feline goodies and baby treats.

First came the toy animal on the string, then the jingle balls, then the crunchy ball, then the toilet paper ball (one of his favorites) then the scratching board, then the regular cardboard. He was oh so happy with the wealth of fun around his furry little paws!

Then, just when he looked happy, we locked him in the bathroom and wouldn't let him out. 

Surprise! 

Poor kitten had ringworm all over his face which we didn't realize when we adopted him. Shortly after he experienced sweet, sweet freedom or a whole apartment for roaming we picked him up with dry, bleached hands and shut him in the bathroom with nothing but a litter box and some stinky cat food. 

So he cried. And cried... and cried.

And I came in and took his toys away because they needed bleaching. 

And he cried some more. 

And then we came in and patted him down with vinegar while he clawed and writhed in wet discomfort. 

And he cried. And meowed.

And screamed.

And then he took a nap.

After which I bleached his whole bathroom with him uncomfortably tucked under my arm. 

Just when he finally started looking happier, when he finally got used to the sterile and empty bathroom and the shuffling, sock-covered feet passing him by every day... just when he started to forget about his short lived day of freedom and adjust to the white confinement....

We brought home The Cage. 

And The Cage became his home. Now poor little baby kitten only gets to play with empty toilet paper rolls that can easily be thrown away and has to suffer being dipped in all sorts of chemicals and stuffed full of anti-fungals while Daniel and I stare in through the cage wires, equally sad and sometimes crying with the kitty. 

Yesterday we let him run around the bathroom again and I made him a new toy with a stick and a plastic bag. Nowhere near as fun as an animal on a string but what can you do with a fungus covered cat? Before bed we did the usual vinegar wipe down and our poor little Mac finally sat still, giving up the fight. 

He started to purr and snuggle against Daniels vinegar covered hand and we all took a breathe to relax into our unperfect but very loving kitty-human relationship...

And then Daniel stabbed him in the eyeball with a clumsy vinegar finger. 

Oh woe is kitty!