Homecoming

The little no-names (Sarah? Jojen? Meera? SweetPea?) were doing well when I left for work today. Little Girl stayed in her carrier for hours after I opened its door, though I noticed mid-afternoon that she'd switched over to Little Boy's carrier. The grass is always greener...

Little Boy shot out as soon as I opened the door to his carrier, and immediately began investigations. Within half an hour, he had eaten six pieces of kitten chow, sniffed the four corners of the room and both of my feet, jumped onto every available surface, inspected the cracks in the ceiling, discovered the window, splashed a good 1/4 cup of water from the dish onto the floor, dragged two toy mice under the bed, cleaned both paws and one ear, and checked in with little girl to make sure she was still there in the carrier (not once! not twice! but three times! yep, still there). He eventually curled up to nap next to his sister. Not touching her, but darn close. I think the trauma of moving yet again (but home this time!) will bring them closer.

Brat has no idea what's going on. He thinks there's something fun behind the bedroom door, and he knows he smelled good food, but he's been minding his own business for the most part.

Around 3 pm I checked in with the kitties. Little Boy was gone. And I mean g-o-n-e. I looked in every possible hiding place, and checked under the bed three times. Nothing. I search my apartment. Nothing. I ask Brat if he's seen a small stripey kitten with a long nose and goldeny-taupe eyes. He's not a squealer; I got nothing from him. At this point I start to panic and think irrational thoughts. Is there a way to get outside from the bedroom? Is there a hole in the window? Could he have slipped through that uncovered outlet? I check once more under the bed, and this time, I look under and UP. Lo and behold, through the thick black mesh stuff that lines the bottom of a mattress, I see suspicious cat-like lumps. And down near the head of the bed, there's a HOLE in the thick black mesh stuff. I breathe a sigh of you-know-what, and maybe call Little Boy a dirty so-and-so, and then I wonder if this is the way it's going to be for years to come. Drama and intrigue, excitement and fear. I hope so. I got a knife from the kitchen, ripped another hole in the mesh, so the kitties have an entrance/exit at both ends of the bed and don't feel trapped, and then I quietly left them alone.

By the time I left the apartment today, Little Girl had left the carrier. Life is good.