Kitten vs. Barbie

On top of the computer are two Barbies. Why? Well, that's just the way we do it here.

The Barbies were given by friends as gifts to my wife. They have been displayed atop the iMac for six or nine months. One Barbie sits astride a plastic polar bear. The other rides a plastic saber-toothed tiger.

The polar bear and saber-toothed tiger are mine.

A small black kitten has taken up residence with us. We already own 3 extraordinary cats (known as "THE V3"--perhaps you've read about them in the newspapers or seen their exploits on television). We are temporarily fostering this new kitten, provisionally named "Dickens", until he can be adopted by a family equipped to give him the attention he needs.

He has just fallen off the back of the desk.

There is no sound of movement.

Perhaps he is dead.

Hold on. Let me check.

No. /445177777777777777711gggasss666666666666666 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxcsccccccccccc (after the fact addition by Dickens The Kitten--perhaps his own encoded cat-speak commentary on his fall?) Not dead. He is sitting on the floor licking his shoulder.

Cheop the Cat--master of the house, large and tailless and cunning--this morning developed a persistent dry cough. He is resting in a corner, not looking his best. His several attempts at vomiting have brought up food, hair, and a disturbing white foam. Naturally, we are concerned.

My mind can't help but keep turning back to the possibility that the new small black kitten poisoned Cheop in the night.

As I began this post, the kitten was gnawing on one of the Barbies' delicate hands. What else is he capable of?


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