When Hubby and I were first married, he obliged my maternal sensations by agreeing to let me welcome two kittens (or kittehs, as the Boston boy Gunnah would say) into our lives. We adopted two tiny fluff balls of orange and gray, from a strange man with long hair and a thick accent. It was a little weird but the kittehs were healthy and fat, and it was love at first sight.

Mikey and Zoey, as we named them, made our Christmas so much fun that year. They broke almost every ornament we had, tore up the garland, and ate enough tinsel to make the kitty litter box sparkle in the sun. The kittehs had a strong affection for Hubby's work boots and would leave him "presents" on a daily basis. Torn bits of paper, fake mice, and dead bugs were common treats left for him, deep in the toes of his boots. Far enough that he'd only notice the "gift" after he'd gotten his entire foot in the boot.

The kittehs provided us hours of entertainment and laughs. In the evening, we'd lay in bed with one of our crocheted afghans pulled up over us at an angle. Hubby would run his fingers up and down the blanket as fast as he could go, and the two chubby little assassins would scamper up and down the afghan trying to kill the offending finger tormenting them. Hubby would normally get a few scratches and lose a pint of blood or two, but it was so frickin' cute that it became a nightly ritual.

As the kittehs got older, Hubby's love for them diminished as Mikey ended up being a "sprayer" (and yes, he was fixed) and loved to mark his scent on anything that needed it...the TV, sleeping bags, Hubby's truck seat when the window was left down, and the list goes on and on. Mikey hated Hubby and pretty much let him know it on a daily basis. Zoey, on the other hand, was a space cadet and pretty much did her own thing. If you could catch her, she'd put up with a few pats and a couple of scratches, but she was more content with just hunting and sleeping.

After having babies and moving into a new house many years later, Zoey ended up living with my parents and their bazillion other kittehs. Mikey refused to go with the program and repeatedly ran away back to our old house where he currently lives with the new owners and I believe is still doing well.

We've been kitteh-less for a little over three years and believe me, I've been having serious withdrawals. I love the feeling of a warm, soft, purring body snuggled up next to me on a cold winter night. Hubby says he can purr for me and he is sorta fuzzy and soft but it's just not the same. I miss having kitteh prints on my car and seeing that familiar streaky look on the windshield, when you know they lost their footing and made a death slide. Most importantly, I feel for my kids who are missing out on the experience of owning and raising a kitteh that could be a lifetime friend to them and a ton of enjoyment especially since the tantalizing Christmas tree will be going up in the next few weeks.

I keep asking myself, why don't I just go out and satisfy my cravings for a whiskery little beast? I did it with the goat - OK, maybe that's not the best example. Oh, and I did buy dozens of fertile eggs, hatched a bunch of roosters, but then again, not the best example....Ultimately, Hubby has decided that he hates kittehs and says it's him or them. While I love the guy, I will miss him when he's gone....Just kiddin'. But I still want the fuzzy little beasts. I've been surfing through all the local pet adoption sights and then leaving them up in the hopes that Hubby will take note of my strong yearning. So far it's not working too well. I even have Taters and C-dub on the bandwagon, working their best "puppy dog" face but the turd is impermeable to the "look" and his heart beats cold toward the feline creature. I still have time before Christmas to make our critter dreams come true. I'm just not sure how to sway his anti-kitteh mind.

And here's some gratuitous kitteh shots:

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