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Abstract

he kneeds me gently with her little paws (sometimes I have to nudge a claw aside).Ziggy is more adventurous and has just discovered the fridge. She gets right in and comes out all cold and looking a little surprised. It’s as if she’s gone to another world for a few seconds and re-enters the warmth of the kitchen slightly bewildered.<figure id="5235"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*SZGUclzGbw36W19toQL82w.jpeg"><figcaption>The fridge is like a winter wonderland in a hot kiwi summer for fur-coat-wearing kittens.</figcaption></figure>I love to see their intrigue at a new toy — a cardboard box that came by courier, or the cap off an empty bottle, or just a ball of colourful paper I screw up and throw for them — the toys from the shop are forgotten in a heap now and lost their allure very quickly.<figure id="ccef"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*KB_qk6nVGAwFET3R2VmQnw.jpeg"><figcaption>The best toys often arrive as post. Delilah, left, with Ziggy inside box. Picture by author</figcaption></figure>They’re tolerating loud noises better, like the sound of the food processor that I use to make smoothies. They don’t run away and hide now, but their ears flatten out slightly, coping with the increased decibels.I love to wake up to them padding all over my body and purring loudly in my ear as if to say: enough sleep, already — get up and watch us poop! It’s odd how they won’t until I get up and bear witness to this importan

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t function.I try to imitate Delilah’s plaintive meows and can only guess at her thinking about my efforts. ‘Whoa! Our human can’t even say it right. She crazy.’ When I first tried out this new language, mimicking their sounds, their little blue eyes opened wide in surprise; now they’re just like ‘WTF — our loony human is doing that weird thing again. She crazy.’They’re such cool creatures, I reckon they’re part gangsta and part lady. They’re so delicate the way they pick their path through the mess that is my desk, being careful not to knock things over (not always successfully), and yet when they fight each other, I can tell they’re really honing their killing skills. Their fights are a soft-fest as they burrow into each other’s downy fur, never drawing blood but building muscle.They’re still a little clumsy as they practise their jumping from table to bench top, sometimes missing and ending up ignominiously on the floor, looking bewildered. And I laugh.I laugh at their antics several times a day and can tell that neuro chemicals are coursing through my brain, giving me joy. Who’d have thought that a couple of kittens could be so uplifting.<figure id="7916"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*3dGltjSAfsYe15N96hqVGg.jpeg"><figcaption>So curious: even the dishwasher is an adventure. Picture by author</figcaption></figure>Thanks for reading.Find me at www.solutionsauckland.com</article></body>

We Are Family

My furry friends are bringing me joy like I never imagined

**Ziggy makes herself at home in a bathroom basin.** Picture by author

My love affair with my kittens, now nearly four months old, is blossoming.

I’m going away for a couple of weeks and I’m already anticipating missing them. Their dear little pretty faces, their soft-soft fur, their company. They’re such good company!

As I go from room to room, they come too. The bathroom seems to be our favourite family room. They wait patiently for me to come out of the shower and dry myself and just hang out while I get dressed and put on makeup. I’m careful where I put my feet these days . . .

I come home after being away for a few hours and they both trot up to me in the hall and give me such a warm greeting, looking genuinely pleased to see me again.

The other day as I bent down to stroke them to say hi after work, I got a sense of family. I miss living in a family (I’ve lived alone for nearly 20 years) and in that moment I thought, oh, my little family — here we are, all together. And my heart melted a little.

Their characters are quite different. Delilah is way more affectionate and sometimes quite needy — meowing plaintively and demanding snuggles on the sofa, and being stroked while she kneeds me gently with her little paws (sometimes I have to nudge a claw aside).

Ziggy is more adventurous and has just discovered the fridge. She gets right in and comes out all cold and looking a little surprised. It’s as if she’s gone to another world for a few seconds and re-enters the warmth of the kitchen slightly bewildered.

The fridge is like a winter wonderland in a hot kiwi summer for fur-coat-wearing kittens.

I love to see their intrigue at a new toy — a cardboard box that came by courier, or the cap off an empty bottle, or just a ball of colourful paper I screw up and throw for them — the toys from the shop are forgotten in a heap now and lost their allure very quickly.

**The best toys often arrive as post. Delilah, left, with Ziggy inside box.** Picture by author

They’re tolerating loud noises better, like the sound of the food processor that I use to make smoothies. They don’t run away and hide now, but their ears flatten out slightly, coping with the increased decibels.

I love to wake up to them padding all over my body and purring loudly in my ear as if to say: enough sleep, already — get up and watch us poop! It’s odd how they won’t until I get up and bear witness to this important function.

I try to imitate Delilah’s plaintive meows and can only guess at her thinking about my efforts. ‘Whoa! Our human can’t even say it right. She crazy.’ When I first tried out this new language, mimicking their sounds, their little blue eyes opened wide in surprise; now they’re just like ‘WTF — our loony human is doing that weird thing again. She crazy.’

They’re such cool creatures, I reckon they’re part gangsta and part lady. They’re so delicate the way they pick their path through the mess that is my desk, being careful not to knock things over (not always successfully), and yet when they fight each other, I can tell they’re really honing their killing skills. Their fights are a soft-fest as they burrow into each other’s downy fur, never drawing blood but building muscle.

They’re still a little clumsy as they practise their jumping from table to bench top, sometimes missing and ending up ignominiously on the floor, looking bewildered. And I laugh.

I laugh at their antics several times a day and can tell that neuro chemicals are coursing through my brain, giving me joy. Who’d have thought that a couple of kittens could be so uplifting.

**So curious: even the dishwasher is an adventure.** Picture by author

Thanks for reading.

Find me at www.solutionsauckland.com