Regular readers will know all about my mouse problem. It’s now over a year since they made their presence felt, and during that time we’ve tried traps, poison, blocking up all holes, nooks and crannies, and electronic bleepy things which emit a high-pitched bleep audible to rodents but not humans and which is meant to deter them. It doesn’t. We obviously have deaf mice, as opposed to the traditional blind ones. Actually, come to think of it, cutting off their tails with a carving knife is one strategy I haven’t yet tried.
Anyway, the long and short of it is that, sick of endless scuttling and sinister black specks on the kitchen worktops, we finally came to the decision to get a cat. It was the subject of much debate – I was more enthusiastic than my husband, but worried that the feline presence would scare off my highly-allergic-to-cats-sister-in-law, as well as the bloomin’ rodents. However, we reached our decision, and then serendipitously, a mere 48 hours later, a friend I did antenatal classes with but haven’t seen for a while, posted on Facebook that she had taken in a stray cat which had promptly given birth to four kittens, and she was looking for homes for them.
It seemed like it was all meant to be, and so, come September, we will be proud owners of two brand new kittens. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.
Anna and I went to see them yesterday. They’re a week old, and so haven’t even opened their eyes yet, and are just adorable little bundles of fluff, wriggling around, and almost permanently latched on to their mother. Two of them are black, and two tabby, and we’ve decided to have one of each (maximising the chances of telling them apart). We can’t even work out what sex they are at this point, so thinking of names is a bit tricky, but I daresay will provide hours of fun over the summer. Anna is beside herself with excitement, and wanted to tell everyone we met that we were getting kittens. And then had imaginary phone conversations with the entire cast of Peppa Pig and The Octonauts to let them know her big news as well.
Fortuitously, the kittens should be ready to leave their mother when they’re about eight or nine weeks old, which coincides exactly with Anna starting school, so I’m hoping that an additional benefit will be that they ease the trauma of my baby being grown up enough to start school, and give me a project to focus on in case I get withdrawal symptoms from having a small dependent creature to feed and clean up after and cuddle.
And my sister-in-law, thankfully, has promised she won’t eschew us completely, but warned that I might have to do some extra hoovering prior to her visits in future.