(no subject)
You know, I don't think I've ever really owned anything before.
I mean obviously I have, I do. I own some clothes and some books, and some of the furniture is mine although I don't really remember what came with the apartment and what didn't, anymore. But almost everything of mine has been borrowed or rented or shared or was somebody else's first and I don't think there's ever been anything that's belonged to me and known it.
And now I have this... thing. It feels rather unkind to say 'thing' but I'm afraid there are some people who aren't too happy about it, so thing it is, for now.
Although saying I have a thing sounds unpleasant, like it might be something bad, or something contagious and honestly it's nothing like that, God no. It ...she is just small, more fluff than flesh really and a strange mix of colours like she wasn't sure what she was meant to be so tried being everything at once. And she's quiet, she doesn't meow at all - she chirps. It's a very soft noise, more like a squeak than a meow and it's meant I've been calling her Mouse, though that's a ridiculous name, isn't it. I really am terrible at these things.
I don't think I've ever had anything that needed me, before. That's what it is. And it's rather terrifying, actually, when you think of the amount of things I can and most likely will do wrong in caring for her. She's got some proper food now, at least, and a litter tray that may as well be her own private beach for all the room she takes up in it. She has a shoebox with a jumper rolled up in it that she passes out on for approximately two hours after every hours worth of frantic play, and I bought her some little catnip toys to play with, which are being ignored in favour of unravelling the ends of one of my scarves.
She took the insoles out of half my shoes earlier and then sat on my shoulder to chew on my hair.
The trouble is, she won't let me leave. I'm supposed to work tonight, and god knows, unless I can pay the bills in kitten food and the stray clumps of grey fluff that seem to be collecting on every surface I really need to. But she keeps looking at me, and her claws are awfully sharp for something so small. It seems wisest not to cross her.
I suppose it's freezing out there, anyway.
I mean obviously I have, I do. I own some clothes and some books, and some of the furniture is mine although I don't really remember what came with the apartment and what didn't, anymore. But almost everything of mine has been borrowed or rented or shared or was somebody else's first and I don't think there's ever been anything that's belonged to me and known it.
And now I have this... thing. It feels rather unkind to say 'thing' but I'm afraid there are some people who aren't too happy about it, so thing it is, for now.
Although saying I have a thing sounds unpleasant, like it might be something bad, or something contagious and honestly it's nothing like that, God no. It ...she is just small, more fluff than flesh really and a strange mix of colours like she wasn't sure what she was meant to be so tried being everything at once. And she's quiet, she doesn't meow at all - she chirps. It's a very soft noise, more like a squeak than a meow and it's meant I've been calling her Mouse, though that's a ridiculous name, isn't it. I really am terrible at these things.
I don't think I've ever had anything that needed me, before. That's what it is. And it's rather terrifying, actually, when you think of the amount of things I can and most likely will do wrong in caring for her. She's got some proper food now, at least, and a litter tray that may as well be her own private beach for all the room she takes up in it. She has a shoebox with a jumper rolled up in it that she passes out on for approximately two hours after every hours worth of frantic play, and I bought her some little catnip toys to play with, which are being ignored in favour of unravelling the ends of one of my scarves.
She took the insoles out of half my shoes earlier and then sat on my shoulder to chew on my hair.
The trouble is, she won't let me leave. I'm supposed to work tonight, and god knows, unless I can pay the bills in kitten food and the stray clumps of grey fluff that seem to be collecting on every surface I really need to. But she keeps looking at me, and her claws are awfully sharp for something so small. It seems wisest not to cross her.
I suppose it's freezing out there, anyway.