Lately, my two leggers have become somewhat nostalgic, telling stories about how they came to be graced with my presence. As usual, their stories have inaccuracies that portray the two leggers in a better light than they deserve.
If one was to hear the story of my "adoption" as they relay it, you would be led to believe that they rescued me from a dank, dark dungeon full of flea bitten prisoners with no chance of liberty. They found me, half starved, living off my own fur balls, sleeping on the cold, hard floor without even the bare comfort of a catnip mousie thingy.
I was born, the oldest kitten of eight, to an unwed female who lived with a single female two legger who spent a lot of time away from home. My mother was allowed to roam the neighborhood often, thus resulting in a midnight rendezvous that led to my glorious conception. Unable to support so many new dependants, I and my siblings were taken to the Vet's office where we were informed that we would be soon assigned new two leggers.
Subjected to a week long indoctrination process that involved a bath, several injections and humiliating examinations, we were instructed in how to behave in order to increase our chances of reassignment. Our instructor was an old tomcat that resided within the Vet's office, named Reggie.
My first question was why, if Reggie was so good at this, hadn't he been reassigned?
But I digress.
During the indoctrination process, I decided that I would inflict more pain on the Vet and her assistants than they inflicted on me. In this endeavor, I was remarkably successful. I was placed in a large cage with fourteen other kittens to wait for my new two leggers. The other kittens were instructed to act "cute and adorable". Having known me for a week, Reggie simply asked me to refrain from bloodshed. I assured him I would try.
After spending several days watching two leggers come to the cage and select one kitten after another, I saw my opportunity. A male two legger approached the cage. I knew immediately that this was a two legger that could be easily tamed. He was tall, fairly thin with graying fur. Other than a clueless look in his eyes, what stood out most was the strange growth of fur between his upper lip and nose. It looked like he tried to swallow a squirrel, but couldn't quite finish the job.
I immediately climbed to the top of the cage and stuck my paw through the wire successfully managing to sink a claw into his leg in order to gain his attention. I informed him that he was to look no further, his master was at hand. I ordered him to sign the paperwork and get me outta there.
He of course complied.
He brought me into my new house in the "kitty carrier" thingy. Upon placing me on the floor, he opened the door on the kitty carrier and I entered my kingdom.
The first thing I beheld was a large, obviously mentally challenged orange tabby. Ivan at that time was approximately three times my size (I was only 12 weeks old) and twenty times my weight. I instantly decided that he would be my chief minion and so I poofed and promptly smacked him. Ivan fled down the hallway like a furry orange bowling ball, presumably to assure that the rest of my house would be properly prepared for me. My new house was full of toys and breakable stuff. After making a full examination, I informed the two legger that my new abode was acceptable.
About an hour later, the mate of the the male two legger arrived. The male tried to warn her that the house had changed ownership, but she told him that he was exaggerating. She picked me up, cooing and stroking me in a very gentle manner. The male stood aghast as she petted the "sweet wittle putty cat". When he spoke of returning the "little hellbeast" to the place from whence it came, she told him that this was my home now.
Truer words never spoken.