In the past I’ve been pretty lucky in the pets department. There are very few physical things I value highly in the world–the top three that come to mind are my shoes, my notebooks, and my books (both paper and electronic form)–and never before have I had a pet (read: dog, fish, bird, or turtle) interested in chewing my heels to a pulp or tearing through volumes of handwritten manuscript pages.
Enter, the new kitten, Gizmo, or as I ofttimes like to call him, Devil Kitten.
Currently, he enjoys chewing everything: my clothes, my jewelry, my hair, cardboard boxes. And it’s even harder to protect these things from him because, unlike most dogs, he can get into high places, which means practically everything is within his reach. I hide electrical cords behind furniture so he can’t get them and put things away in drawers as soon as I’ve finished using them (this is actually making me quite a bit more organized, to be honest).
But yesterday, he dug his claws into a manuscript I had stacked neatly underneath my desk and within seconds two hundred pages were scattered across the floor, his wet nibble marks decorating the corners as he gnawed on the paper. His interest doesn’t end with the printed word, either. To his great delight, he’s nearly figured out how to consistently flip book pages on my Kindle Fire with the swipe of a paw and he apparently enjoys nothing more than leaping up onto my lap and quickly loosing my page, leaving me to hopelessly flip through, trying to find my place again, of course reading pages and paragraphs out of order that ruin future plot surprises in the process.
God, I hope this is a phase.
How did I manage to end up with probably the only cat in the world interested in destroying my personal library?