a chicken story

once upon a while ago, some friends of ours found a little kitten in the hills of west virginia. more specifically, this little piece of fluff ran out in front of their car while they were driving home from a trip one night. as luck (and the bright white of his coat) would have it, they saw what was a teensy kitten, picked it up, and took it home.

these friends had, at the time, three senior citizen dogs, and although they're fiercely devoted animal lovers, the pups still weren't too keen on taking in a feline companion. they called us (at the time "burdened" with three kitties of our own) and asked if we could help find a home for the little one they'd figured to be a girl and who they named Kiki.

well, as my aforementioned boyfriend is practically the best guy in the world (seriously, it's documented) he acquired said kitten for me as a surprise birthday gift (after pretending to say no way to the idea of ANOTHER cat in our fur-filled house.) Kiki turned out to be a boy we named Chicken, due to his sweet and sour nature. even though we already had three kitties we couldn't resist him. so adorable and SO teeny, what trouble could he be?

indeed. here was a kitten who would mewl through the bathroom door at all hours of the night (which is normal for baby kitties) and beat up the other full-grown cats. a kitten who would then grow up to be the kind of cat who runs up and down the main hallway of the apartment, caterwauling until we lift our heads from the pillows to tell him to shut it. what do you want, Chicken? some food? some attention? to watch the VHS tape entitled "video catnip"? to wake us up at 5am, wait until we fall back asleep, and then wail again, giggling to yourself in your cat way?

the problem gets to be that Chicken is adorable. so even though mommy is not the happiest at 4, 5 and 6am when he does his twittering bird-call sounds (the sound is so un-cat like it HAS to be an imitation) and, i swear to god, yells "MEOW WOW" at the foot of the bed, i cannot help but love him. even when he bites my feet or daddy's hand when he goes to pet him. even when he bumps the other cats out of the way, bullying all the food for himself. even when he grabs a check from the table (a tip for me during the holidays) and TEARS IT TO SHREDS--even when they are billions of cat toys and other, inconsequential pieces of paper he could rip up to his evil little heart's content--i am a sucker.

look at that little devil and the poor put-upon cats that have to live with him. i feel your pain, Baby and Miss Jackson. but honestly...

how can you help but love the little bastard?