Hello, peoples of the internet. Oliver here.
As you know, My Girl and The Boy brought us a people-kitten. We’ve named him Squeak. The people call him something else, but Squeak makes more sense – it’s what he does!
Squeak has been home for a little over a week and it’s been an adjustment. For one thing, he lays in my spot on My Girl a lot. A LOT. So that’s annoying. But My Girl is weird and squishy feeling so I’m not enjoying laying on her as much as I used to anyway.
And we’re learning to share.
And My Girl always makes a point of finding me for some special time when Squeak is in his room.
I’ll admit, though, that Obi and I did not have a great couple of days when Squeak first arrived.
For one thing, My Girl was gone for three days to go get him. The Boy kept coming home to feed us, at least, I didn’t have any snuggles.
Then she came home and set Squeak down in his carrier. Obi and I walked up to check him out. I gave the customary greeting for a stranger – I hissed once.
Then things got bad.
Obi jumped back and yelled “yo mama!” Okay, that’s NOT what Obi yelled. But My Girl says we don’t cuss online. So let’s say that’s what he said.
The thing is this: I have a zero tolerance policy about that kind of language. So Obi needed to be beaten to a pulp.
My Girl took Squeak into his room while The Boy put me in the basement. And he closed the door which is totally rude because I HATE CLOSED DOORS. Obi and I discussed things under the door. I told him and people-kittens. He apologized for his language.
A while later The Boy let me upstairs. I met Obi in the dining room. “Yo mama,” he mumbled under his breath as he crouched low.
“Excuse me?” I said. The Boy came in and I knew we were going to get in trouble. But the language.
And the butt kicking commenced. This time Obi was put in the basement. And we talked, under the door.
Obi has issues. You maybe remember the civil war, a war between brothers, that happened last year. I was protecting our house from something outside our window and accidentally hurt Obi. That’s when the cussing started. He can’t help himself. It just comes out when he gets nervous.
I understand this. But zero tolerance is zero tolerance for a reason.
The people got him something from Dr. Tiffany to help him with the cussing so I wouldn’t have to kill him anymore. We took turns being upstairs with Squeak. The Boy hung out a lot with Obi in the basement. And My Girl and I took naps down there while The Boy took care of Squeak.
Finally, when his anti cussing juice was working, Obi and I were allowed to be together. He washed my ears. Then I walked him into Squeak’s room, where My Girl was sitting on the bed. We looked at Squeak through the bars of his cage.
We agreed: it was a big fuss over something so little.