BAD KITTEHS!

Andrew and I returned to Toronto at around one o'clock this morning. I'd felt pretty guilty during our three days in Kingston over leaving Mong and Shelley alone here directly after I'd returned home to them after my months-long absence, so was looking forward to opening up the apartment door and seeing them again.

I imagined them wandering the rooms, wondering if we were coming back, howling hopefully at the apartment door when they heard anyone walking by in the hallway. I missed waking up to find them on either side of me, Shelley with his shiny, satiny fur and Mongkut with his velvety, soft fur. I looked forward to seeing their angelic, happy little faces when we returned, eyes squinty in affectionate welcome, purrs loud and loving.

They were happy to see us, of course, and our little reunion was as nice as I'd hoped. After a while Andrew and I settled down to try to get some sleep, and that is when my darling, beloved, precious, adorable kittyboys proceeded to make total assholes of themselves.

If there was plastic to be found they chewed on it. If a whisker from the other invaded their personal space they wrestled madly together. They poked and explored in all the bags and packs I'd brought with me, seeking new toys and playthings. They grew incredibly energetic and raced around, vaulting over us and thundering under the bed at top speed. They got up on my dresser and pushed things off of it onto the bed where my head lay. They messed around on the windowsill constantly, clattering the vertical blinds loudly over and over and over. They tussled on the bed, knocking into us as we tried to sleep, swearing at each other whenever a tooth or claw went a bit too far. They gnawed enthusiastically and loudly on the handle of the wicker basket I'd gotten.

I don't know how many times I had to sit up and swat at them, or get up altogether and take away whatever they were pouncing on or rustling in. At one point they both raced out of the room and I asked Andrew to close the door, but that's a pointless tactic because then Mong will immediately start trying to dig his way through the bottom of the the door, wailing sadly. So he opened up the door again and we suffered more of their shenanigans.

So; not much sleep for me. I'm not sure how much Andrew got throughout all this, but he needed rest more than I did. Eventually the boys did settle down, but it wasn't really until after Andrew left for work. I got an hour or so of sleep after that with them blissfully sprawled on the bed with me, in their repose the perfect little cats I like to think of them as.

I voluntarily own little beings who are possibly around the mental age of two years old; beings who reside in compact, strong little bodies that can get into places that I can't and wreak havoc in hundreds of little ways. Beings with little in the way of morals, conscience or forethought. VOLUNTARILY. OMG.