But enough with all the sad stuff. Because we have a new family member, and this little stinker is here to stay. Meet Margot!
This little ball of fluff and teeth and purrs is around nine weeks old and was approximately six weeks when we brought her home. I had been reconsidering my ban on adopting a kitten (usually preferring to rescue an adult cat) because of the size of our beast/dog, Sam. My hope was that if the kitten grew up with a giant dog, she wouldn't know any different and they could be friends, but more on that in a minute. A friend had recently rescued a tiny 4 to 5 week old kitten abandoned in a parking lot and had put the call out on Facebook. The pictures were too cute/pitiful to ignore, and I decided to meet the little orphan. She was tinier than I expected and had more fleas than any living creature should have to endure, but I was hooked.
The next step was to de-flea the poor baby, and my friend and I rallied for the seven hour ordeal. (Incidentally, excellent friend-bonding time, elbow deep in flea-filled water, holding a struggling kitten together. Seriously, it was like months of actual friend time compressed into a day!) I'll save you the gory details of picking off hundreds of fleas and instead give you this:
Sweet little Margot (named after a character, Margot Tenenbaum, from my all-time favorite movie, The Royal Tenenbaums) was a real trooper through all the de-fleaing torture, and a few days later she came home to a very excited five year old and an extremely sniffy dog. She has since adjusted quite nicely to this slightly askew family, and has morphed into a hilarious, fluffy little dictator/clown who runs the house between cuddles. The dog does little more than annoy her, except for when she's stalking/attacking his cords, which she loves, and her favorite pastime is listening to Kiddo read. There is no in-between for Margot Kitten, and she is either the Queen of Cuddles, purring and stretching and squeezing her eyes shut tight, or she is Kitten Murderface, wielder of razor claws and microscopically pointy teeth that she clamps down with abandon. There is much running and hiding and stalking and booty shaking and attacking and flipping and chasing and back arching and purring and head butting and nibbling and swatting and hissing and sniffing and every other kitten good thing there is.
And through it all, Sam remains impassive:
Just a slight size disparity. Nothing insurmountable.