Degrees of Diffidence

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, is even now sitting on my lap, kissing my chin.

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, is helping herself to the Cheez-Its in the bowl on my computer table.

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, tries to help herself from my plate at the dining room table, practically every time I sit down to eat.

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, pounces on me every night after I've pulled up the covers and turned out the light, stalks up my body, finds my face and kisses me goodnight, then curls up next to me and settles in to sleep.

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, blocks my path in the morning as I come up the stairs from the shower in the basement, insisting I pet her every three or four risers.

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, has learned the word "Treats!" and comes running to join her four-legged siblings wherever the goodies are on hand.

Gwenith, my shy pink floofy kitteh, is currently lying over my left wrist as I type, wondering why I ate all the Cheez-Its and didn't save any for her.

She still runs and hides when any visitor comes; except on the stairs she still won't let me reach down and pet her; she still insists that any advance she makes be at her own initiative and while I am sitting, lying down, or otherwise restricted. But considering where we were a few months ago when she'd run if I barely looked at her, I'd say this was progress.

Thrills and Chills

A section of my backyard fence is down since the windstorms Sunday evening. This opens up whole new opportunities for my dog Llewellyn and for the four-year-old next door.

Caitlin East* is fascinated with my dog. She has two kittehs of her own (older by far than she is), but a Real Live Dog is something altogether different.

Always before, I've brought him out on his leash to the front yard so she and other neighborhood children can pet him and practice telling him to sit, sit!

But now the backyard fence is down. And when Caitlin* is in her backyard with her daddy, Llewellyn, off-leash, just has to run through and explore and be in-your-face sociable on the other side of the line. And Caitlin* just has to come through (past the fallen branches) and visit my dog on his own turf.

This makes him very, very happeeee! And like the collie mix he is, he runs round and round joyously, rambunctiously, heedlessly!! And last night he nearly barrelled into little Caitlin, who is about half his size.

Suddenly, being friends with The Puppy didn't seem like such a good idea any more. No, she didn't want to run back into her own yard. She wanted to squeal and tremble and cling to me, holding my hand and saying, "I'm scared of the puppy! I'm scared!"

"Why are you scared? He didn't mean to run into you. He's just being careless, and we have to teach him not to."

"I'm scared!"

"How come?"

"Because his mouth is open!!!"

Oh, yeah. When you've just turned four, all those goggie toofs can be pretty scary, even when the goggie is grinning like a silly idjit.

So we practiced throwing him the tennis ball, which intices him to run away from her-- not so intimidating. And getting her to laugh at his long red tongue as he sits there panting.

This evening, then, Caitlin* was in her backyard with her daddy. Away through the gap Llewellyn went, dragging his leash, hello, hello, helloooo!!!

"Eeee!! Eeee!!" went Caitlin*, and hid behind her daddy. I called my doggie, and the child squealed and ran away. Off goes my mutt after, but luckily for us all, not to chase her, rather to nose here, there, and everywhere around their yard. And off she went after him, picking up his leash, commanding him to sit. And had no problem at all when Llewellyn poked in when her dad was trying to tie her shoes.

She's still not so sure about those grinning doggie teeth. But she can't keep away, rambunctious mutt or not. So I have to wonder: How much of this is my dog scaring the kid next door, and how much is this her scaring herself?

(I shall keep a close eye on the situation.)

News Flash!

Gwenith has climbed onto my lap three times running just now!

And even let me pet her (a little!)

I think I'm gonna faint.

Momcat?

My Rhadwen may have had her kitty hysterectomy nine and a half years ago, but she knows good maternal behavior when she gets a chance to do it.

Witness her licking Huw the year old kitten into shape:

Yes, I'd say she was getting some long-delayed mothering in . . . except that Huw himself grooms the dog Llewellyn and the dog looks after Gwenith the pink floofy cat and she reciprocates with strops and purrs and Huw liklikliks Rhadwen back. A very harmonious family we've turned out to be! Hurrah, let cheezburgrz rain down on us all!

Happy Family

When I get up in the morning there's generally a pet convention in the upstairs hall. Llewellyn and Rhadwen leave the bedroom with me and Gwenith and Huw descend or ascend from wherever they've taken up their sleeping quarters.

But I rarely have all four of them there at once.

Yesterday morning, I did. And get out the Victorian greeting cards with the cherubs and the posies, put "Home, Sweet Home" on the Victrolia, and spout whatever sentimental nonsense you might like about Happy Families.

Bekuz it wuz da kyooot!!

Nine-year-old Rhadwen was likliklikking Huw's stripey little head. Fuzzy Gwenith was stropping herself against Llewellyn the goggie and trying to groom his ears.

Are these kids socialized or what?

No, no pictures of this tender domestic scene. I don't sleep with the digital camera, nor yet take it to the loo with me.

But here's what I have from an earlier date . . .

Shhhh!

The camera is never at hand when wanted.

Shhhh!

Right now, on my study floor, nine-year-old Rhadwen and seven-month-old Gwenith are sleeping peacefully, curled up together on the same bunched-up throw, about five inches apart.

(And darned if Gwenith doesn't appear bigger than Rhadwen!

(Yes, I know: It's all fur.)

Cross Post

I wrote this post on my main blog, Hiraeth and Hwyl, because it's mainly about people. But the animals play major supporting roles, so the link is hereby made.

Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Last night was the first time since the kittens came that I've tried sleeping a) in my own bed, with b) all the doors open so all the four-footed inhabitants could come and go as they pleased.

I woke this morning with one big cat and two little ones with me on the bed, and one dog on the floor.

And no wet places!

Well done, one and all.

Too Much Excitement!!!

I answered the doorbell a little after 6:00 this evening. There on the steps stood my friend Hannah* and her kids Stevie* and Letitia.*

"Hi! We've brought dinner and we've come to see the kittens!"

So she ran the frozen dinners through the microwave while I escorted the children upstairs to visit Gwenith and Huw.

How do you explain to a six-year-old and a four-year-old why two nine-week old kittens, who spent just over a week at their house (much of it hiding in the basement), dashed under the bed the minute the children walked into the room?

How (once you've fished the kittens out from under the bed) do you convince them that the kittens might be more comfortable if the children didn't yell so excitedly at the kitties, at you, and at each other?

How do you teach them not to hold the kittens too tightly and to let them go if they want to jump out of their arms?

And how, when little Letitia is doing a good job of keeping Gwenith, wrapped in the pink cotton kitty cat rug, happy and secure, do you prevent her big brother Stevie with his Superior Knowledge from grabbing the kitten from her and showing her How It Ought to Be Done?

You can't.

Oh, you can run your mouth and try. But there's just Too Much Excitement. So you simply referee. And intervene when needed to make sure none of the children-- human or feline-- get hurt.

And when the children call the kittens by their old handles Tiger and Creamie, and ask their mother when they're going to get to bring them home, you keep your mouth shut. That's her enviable job.

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*Made-up names