Rap Monster, the Temporary Pet

 

The Kitten Chronicles: How I Accidentally Became a Cat Landlord

We have two darling little kittens — outdoor cats, feral cats, “don’t touch me, human” cats. Their older brothers survived last winter outside like tiny Viking warriors, so I figured these two would be fine.

But I still bought them a heated cat house. A whole tiny Airbnb with a warming pad specifically designed for feral cats. Because apparently I’m running a luxury resort for animals who won’t even let me pet them.

One morning I was playing with them through the glass window — my version of “interactive cat parenting.” Jimin looked over his shoulder, froze, and bolted. I stepped outside to see what scared him.

Mama cat screamed — a sound that could summon demons — and she was standing over little Jimin’s body. No life left in him.

A strange feral male cat stood there like he owned the place, challenging me.

I grabbed a shovel and ran him off like a furious pioneer woman defending her homestead..

Well.

“I am NOT having a cat in this house,” I declared.

But I am also NOT having another one killed.

Mama cat came in the house and sat far enough away  to eventually coax the remaining kitten to join her..

So… guess who’s living inside now.

JoDee’s Cat B&B (Now Open for Business)

JoDee immediately set up a whole kitten suite in her bedroom — cat tent, litter box, the works.

I said, “Fine. ONLY until he’s big enough to fight back.”

This was my first lie of the year.

We needed kitten food and litter.

JoDee bought all that fun stuff.

I announced loudly, “Not my problem.”

Then I bought him a cat tower.

And a tunnel.

And toys.

Because apparently it is my problem.

On day two, he came out to investigate us. I ignored him like a strict parent who refuses to bond with the class hamster.

He ignored me right back and played with Mama instead.

Two weeks in, he will sit on my lap, play with my hands, and act like he owns the place — but if I try to actually touch him?

He vanishes like a magician’s assistant.

 So for now, the kitten is staying inside “until he’s big enough to fend for himself.”

Which, according to JoDee, means “when he’s the size of a panther.”

At this rate, he might actually become one.

But that’s fine. Totally fine.

I’m not a cat person.

I’m not keeping a cat.

I’m just feeding him, housing him, buying him toys, tunnels, and furniture, and letting him sit on my lap like he owns the place.

This is temporary.

Very temporary.

Extremely temporary.

…please don’t ask me for updates in six months when he’s sleeping on my pillow and answering to the name “Baby.”

Which, at this rate, might indeed be when he’s bigger than a panther.