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Fish Or Cut Bait

New Member of the Family
by Bob Ciminel


June 03, 2004

Last Friday, my son gave me a kitten for my birthday. We sent him to the store for bread and milk; he came back with a 6-week-old kitten. He found it at one of those "Free to Good Home" kiosks. I wonder if the kitten's owners would have wanted money if we were a
photo new kitten
"Bad Home". How does one define a "Good Home" kittenwise? Is it a home with no dogs, or with a backyard full of small birds?

We haven't had a kitten in the house since 1980. We forgot that kittens are born with claws on both ends and they love to climb on things, like your legs. Fortunately, this one doesn't weigh more than an ounce or two, so the pain isn't too bad. She hasn't drawn blood yet.

Max the Cat, who thinks he is Lord-and-Master of the house, tolerates the kitten, but just barely. With Max being unfriendly, the dog had taken on the role of running interference for the kitten by always putting herself between Max and the kitten. I don't think she does it out of a sense of protection; she thinks the kitten is her toy. She and the kitten play together and sleep together, Foxy in her kennel with the kitten sleeping on top of it. At first, I was against the arrangement because Foxy and the kitten are both females and I was worried they'd stay up all night talking.

We haven't come up with a name for the kitten yet. I was leaning toward "Maxine", but Alice doesn't like the name. If she gets her way, we'll probably end up with some schmoozy feminine name. I'd prefer a more functional name, like Rat Killer. In fact, I'm seriously thinking about calling Max by a more functional name - "Litter Box Misser" is one that comes to mind. If you Ketchikanites have any suggestions for the kitten's name, send me an email.

Oh, an update to last week's article about the suicide jumper who tied up the Interstates for half a day; the rescuers finally tried to grab the would-be jumper. I think they were beginning to worry that one of those truckers stranded on I-75 would shoot the S.O.B. The rescuers grabbed the guy, but their hands were sweaty from standing around in the hot noonday sun, and he slipped and fell. He survived with a couple of broken bones, and, as I predicted, they whisked him off to the hospital where he would receive taxpayer-funded medical treatment, a nice room, and three meals a day. That way he can recuperate while we bust our butts at work to pay for his attempt to get a little attention on an otherwise quiet day.


Bob Ciminel ©2004

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