Three Little Kittens Lost Their Mittens.

11/18/2015

The Lay of the Land

By Lyn Messersmith

Three Little Kittens Lost Their Mittens.

            There probably aren’t many readers under forty who ever heard of the three unlucky kittens, and if you mentioned catching flies with honey rather than vinegar they’d go, “HUH??”

Nobody ever warned them their faces might freeze that way, or cautioned them not to get the big head, but it’d have benefitted society if that had happened. Nobody ever said, “See you in the funny papers” to them either. Is there a text abbreviation for that? Probably not, the funny papers are about to become as extinct as these old sayings.

            Instead of handing pre-teens a cell phone, we need to remove our own phone from their sticky fingers and tell them not to monkey with that. When they skip out on chores they need to be told to quit monkeying around and get to work.

            Granny would have said it’s the cat’s pajamas how people dress these days, let alone the way men wear hats indoors. She’d have been right, of course, but I digress. However, that does bring us back to the kittens…

            Our five little kittens haven’t any mittens either. I doubt they have lost anything other than manners, but apparently they believe something is missing, and it’s hidden in the kitchen. 

            They were born under the grill cover and now are out exploring the world. That cute, playful stage is fun, although we know they’ll soon be cats. Still, we laugh while watching them romp and pretend to do battle on the patio. The problem is that every time the door opens they race to come in. And carrying a basket of laundry, or something to put in the shop, makes it hard to know they are between your feet. I accidentally shut the door on one that was halfway in the other morning, and the squall woke my sleeping spouse.

Mind you, these entertainers have not been fed indoors or encouraged to enter. Well, that’s mostly true. Last week, the mama carried one in when the door opened for the dog. Somehow, I don’t think that counts as permission.

My hopes were raised when one son called to inquire if we had extra cats. Turned out he wants grown ones that will fight off a dog. We might be able to fill the order, but those fitting that category can’t be caught, which is why we’ve played with the latest litter so much, in order to tame them for give-away.

Which brings me to Christmas—surely someone out there has a granddaughter who has been begging for a kitten, and one of these is black, so it wouldn’t even get smudged when Santa carries it down the chimney. You know, of course, why I appeal to grandparents; it’s against the rules for parents to make a kid give back a gift from Granny or Granddad.

This is the first time you’ve ever heard me encourage rushing the holiday season, but emergencies happen. So, shop early, shop often, and shop at home. The coyote that’s been sneaking around to eat what’s left in the garden may soon decrease the inventory.

Gotta run. Not to be rude, but I need to go put out a cat.