UnderfootSeptember 29, 2007
Four of them. Miss Idaho is up top, and Harriet, Willie and Waylon are the Black Hole. Boy, they're cute. They like me just fine even though my new hobby is stepping on animals. Every time I take a step, there's a little foot underneath mine. I used to think it was cute when Harriet and Miss Idaho followed me into every room. Then we got Clara and she did the same. Then Digit came home (o, frabjous day) and he took up the following, now that he is Mr. Indoors. The kittens don't follow me -- they just want to be where the action is. Adah, happier than she's ever been, just watches from the top of the fridge. She is the only one escaping the wrath of my heels. No wonder she's so cheerful.
But really. I feel badly every time I hear a high-pitched squeal because I know it's my fault. But they PUT their little feet there, they really do. They stick a paw out, right under my foot, I step, they scream, and I pick up and cuddle. Hey. Wait a minute. Is that a plot?
The kittens (who are not kittens anymore, look at them!) have an amazing trick: They run at speeds of up to eighty-seven miles per hour through the house. I walk through the house at a normal human pace, maybe a bit slower. I raise a foot because I plan on moving forward, as one does while walking. Suddenly, an entire cat is beneath my foot. Right under it. I stumble, trying to place my foot somewhere other than the floor, where I'll crush that poor cat, but that poor cat has by that time circumnavigated the entire house three times.
It's just safer when they're on the couch.