A welcome home cat story about how a tiny kitten from the Animal Rescue League with a huge attitude won hearts of its new owners.
Recently, my husband Bob and I were at the Animal Rescue League, when a gal put a two-pound kitten in my arms. We instantly fell in love with him, named him Dennis, and took him home with us.
“He’s so snuggly and quiet,” Bob said.
What a joke. Little did we realize we were in for a big surprise. Once in our bedroom, we let Dennis out of his carrier. I held out my arms so he’d nestle in them – but instead, he zoomed past me and flew up every curtain, bookshelf and tall lamp he could find. After his first round, he did it again…and again, at breakneck speeds even a NASCAR driver couldn’t match.
What is it with animals who put on a demure “please take me home” act at the shelter, then turn into raucous, whirring flying saucers once in their new homes? Bob can’t even catch Dennis and he has won first place trophies in sprint competitions.
We soon learned that Dennis has also clearly been trained in electrical engineering. He shuts down computers with one paw. He turns on printers. He sends faxes.
And do you know what this ball of lightening darts to and then grabs with his sharp teeth if we’re in bed and I’m not wearing a top? Well, let me just say I’m sporting two Band-Aids.
Dennis is…well, a menace!
On the day before what we now call “D-Day”, we emptied our bank account buying every kind of cat toy we could find. But Dennis nixed the toys and spent hours jumping in and out of the paper bag they came in.
On “D-Day”, an exhausted Bob finally corralled the kitten into a huge luxurious crate, at which point Dennis let out a nonstop vocal rendition of fireworks – and I mean the grand finale, when each rapid-fire explosion can be felt throughout our whole bodies and we begin to wonder if our insurance companies cover permanent hearing damage. Each lion-sized roar was accompanied by Dennis banging the metal door of the crate, adding the effect of detonating bombs to the cacophony. So much for the crate.
This kitten is no bigger than a sweet potato. But despite his antics, I have to tell you something – he’s even sweeter than one.
One morning not long ago, when I opened my eyes, I watched my husband holding Dennis in his arms. Bob didn’t know I could hear him softly singing:
I’ll love you till the bluebells forget to bloom. I’ll love you till the clover has lost its perfume. I’ll love you till the poets run out of rhyme. Until the twelfth of never, and that’s a long, long time. And then I heard him whisper: “Welcome home, Dennis.”