[Me and Dumb Kitten, lulled into a false sense of security by the lack of toddlers in my house.]
Ruru the Cat here. Why didn't someone warn me they were coming again? This is MY HOUSE, MY RULES. If you don't like it, go find another house. But take me because you still need to feed me. Anyway, so yesterday, my people left as usual. But it wasn't exactly a normal leaving because my person was still here. Her dad was still here. There was nothing to foreshadow the doom that was coming my way.
[Those scary monsters were in the door before I even saw them coming.]
It's bad enough that my person seems to be so busy with the yeti people (her cousins, I guess) plus that new kitten that I can scarcely get much time with her. It was worse yet when my person's mom showed up, followed closely by [insert scary movie music here] the TODDLERS and their adult slaves. You'd think I'd get like an earthquake or hurricane alarm or something sounding everywhere so I could hide in the basement or leave the state. But NO. Of course not. Gotta figure out how to get one of those installed. I had to come all the way upstairs only to find those monsters here, already in MY house.
[The large human child finds us everywhere. We are not amused.]
You better believe I hid most of the time. But there's now this little girl from some other magically appearing place--got me as to where--that showed up this week to chase us cats around. She'll follow us up AND downstairs, so there's nowhere to hide except my person's room, and that stays closed most of the time. Even my underwear drawer of solitude isn't always secure. She'll drag us out, so the toddlers can chase us down. Will this deeper and deeper level of hell never cease?
[Cue the scary music.]
The dogs seemed okay with them. In fact, the toddlers' caretakers brought their own dog, that other puppy, Angel, I thought was gone for good. She and Bean, our annoying, in-your-face puppy and she spent the whole time playing and frolicking. Sometimes, their doggie parents even got in the game. It was a serious mess, made complicated by toddler-smelling stuff EVERYWHERE from diapers in our garbage to toddlers in the human food storage to the chair where I sit to remind humans it's their obligation to sacrifice to the cat god (me, of course) to our usual hiding places. There was not a square inch of space without one, two, or even THREE toddlers.
[Better her than me.]
I heaved a sigh of relief every time that smallest human (once a safe-but-smelly baby, now a dangerous-but-still-smelly toddler beast with grasping hands) grabbed my kitten. I love the little beast with the most reluctant love imaginable, but better her than me. Serves her right for being small, dumb, and cute. Don't ask me if I'm talking about the human or cat. Probably both. They deserve each other.
Paige wanted to say something: hi! i'm paige! I loved all of it! i loved the people and the puppies and the little kids! they all loved me! it was so great!
Man, kid, you don't get it, do you?
[Look at that look of terror. Who would do that to a cat? Oh, right. A gremlin.]
The larger, male toddlers (who knows if they're still toddlers--always will be to me) were, as usual, loud, handsy, and everywhere like heat in the summer, only worse. But worst of all, they didn't even drop much FOOD and drank milk without sharing. What a tragedy. Between that new neighbor girl and the hoard of rampaging human gremlins, it's a miracle I survived this weekend. I came so close to death (or really, the clutches of toddlers) so many times, it's not even funny. Whoever invented toddlers should be handed over to grasping, sticky fingers and never let out to see the light of day. Seriously. Humans of all sizes are twisted.
