Kittens for Christmas

I wrote this a year ago when my cats were just babies.  They’re much more disciplined now—ha!

I was sitting on the toilet a half hour ago, getting a clear view of the leather belt I slipped through my denim belt loops this morning, and I noticed it—kitten teeth marks on the end of my belt!  When did I leave this belt out where my two little wild girls could chew on it?  Oh, threatened by kitten teeth, kitten claws, and kittens leaping, Wallenda-like from leather chair to kitchen counter and from cat tree to cedar chest and then atop the CD player.  I’ve already lost count of the number of computer cables and ear buds and lamp cords I’ve had to replace because someone (I think it’s my tabby Zuzu) has gnawed down to the  wires. I wonder if it gives her a little zing when her ivories hit the charge. And I’m wondering now where I can place my Nativity scene since I’ve already had to sweep up a big crockery lamp that was left in three dozen jagged pieces after one of them (I think it was my black cat Valentine) knocked it with the force of a thousand suns during one of her gymnastic leaps.  Oh, where is it safe for a Christmas tree, ceramic Santa, porcelain baby J with donkey and sheep?  Where can I hang a raffia wreath festooned with ribbon and silk poinsettias?  Where can I find a bit of that infamous silent night when I’m stalked by—gasp—kittens!!!

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