One day I shall wake up to find my house is made of cats.

Meet Derpy. He's one of the three, month-old kittens we have hanging around the house. I haven't even bothered naming the other two yet, only because I lack creativity in that department and they haven't really had any defining characteristics other than Derpy here, worth basing their names on.  

Anyway, our family is slowly getting used to owning cats, after Razorclaw, their momma moved in with us after I made the mistake of feeding her one night. 

the cat never left and got pregnant twice,  and both times we lost the litter to the outside world. Derpy's batch on the other hand has gotten on the good side of my mom, hence allowing them to stay around (but I let them out every night to avoid getting cat shit fucking everywhere), thus giving them the impulse to climb and explore everything and anything. I pray, every day that I leave the house, that they don't mess up my workshop, or leave mouse corpses on my seat with their tiny, vicious, hook claws.

I've had terrible luck with the kittens in the past, oftentimes they'd scuttle off after tipping over my paint bottles and huddle into tiny, unreachable corners to escape my wrath, climb up the table and just insist on sleeping on the keyboard whatever it is I'm reading, and hiss at me when I pick them up, or tip over a mountain of my readings or books and cause an avalanche. This new batch is no different, cats being the insufferable and unruly little bastards that they are.

why are you adorable? damn you.

And yet, at the end of the day, after many tiny cuts on my hands and arms, I still can't let these little guys go. I carry them around, pet them and play with the little guys, getting more used to them, and become a bit more patient, no matter how many times they knock shit over. 

I mean, it's just natural after all, this curiosity they have, this obsession with every nook and cranny. They're learning, and so am I, eventually this house will seem small to them and they'll be fit enough to leave home, they might not come back again but I hope they do, hopeful that one day they'll grow up like their mother and just be annoying when they're hungry and then bugger off when they're full or bored of me, or hop on the table when they need someone to scratch the back of their ears. They're not really that bad, when they get a sense of the place and the people they live with, the cats become pretty chill, and in those evening that require me to burn myself out writing papers a night before the deadline, having a cat just hop up next to you and sleep by your laptop just takes the edge off everything (to me, at least). Never mind that they've torn the sofa into unrecognizable fluff, broke a few vases and shred up the long-ass set of .pdfs you're currently printing and need to read before 3pm the following day, they will take time off their busy schedule of daily chaos to just sit next to you and thank you for keeping them around.