Hissy Kittens and Sunny Weekends

As I had literally fell head over heels (though I wisely choose not to walk around in two-inch heels in my overly creaky bedroom) for my two new kittens, Bart and Benny, and had dedicated yesterday's blog to the ever-so-cute pair, I have since stumbled out of bed in a flustery panic and applied a thinner-than-usual line of brown eyeliner which may or may not coordinate with my naturally blue-as-a-teenage-tantrum eyes - in simple, much-loved plain English, my eyes have opened up to the world surrounding me, which happens to include a sudden spell of sunshine peeking through my bedroom's windows, a dark tabby-and-splash-of-white kitten hissing at his bowl of supposedly 'appetizing' prawn cat food and a set of Santa lights with a belly larger than a fast food addict neatly adorned across my wooden wardrobe. Getting up in the morning is never an easy and jolly task, is it?

Still, why should I give into my usual habits and have a moan like many would down a pint of lager (sorry for mentioning this, last night's viewing of the hilariously laugh-out-loud comedy The World's End is still as fresh as a daisy in my mind) without giving it a second thought? Alongside a traditional, sleep-satisfying lie-in and the mouth-drawling smell of a Sunday roast tickling up my eagerly excited nose, I like weekends quite a lot because there isn't a better time to escape from the daily perils of reciting a French phrase which makes absolutely no sense and being granted an hour or so to fulfill my heart's contentment via pouring my honest soul into an entry for my beloved readers (if I have any) to read here, so Saturday and Sunday definitely deserve a place in my filled-to-the-brim good books.

This weekend, however, has already turned out to be different to the usual ones which typically result in my lying on a blanketed sofa the colour of a golden labrador's coat, flicking through the pages in a 'free' newspaper glossy magazine and peel a few chunky-on-top, yet skinny-as-Alexa-Chung's-legs parsnips (quite like a pear, though upside-down) in order to help my mum out with the once-a-week roast, which was sadly abandoned last week due to my brother and dad attending their first Chelsea match together at Stanford Bridge. One thing which I can proudly remember (and have also learnt) this month is that a serving of chicken nuggets and horribly salty french fries (the worst food to eat when one has a disgustingly red spot near their lips, which have strangely plumped more in size than a collagen facial filler) is incapable of ever replacing the homemade goodness and lovingly prepared effort of producing a meal in your own kitchen, even if it wasn't necessarily your own choice to make.

Anyway, my lips can proudly curl into a smile this week because there are two fluffy kittens who deserve to discover the uplifting joys of playtime! Since picking them up from an animal rescue centre on Friday afternoon, this is the very first weekend that Bart and Benny are spending in their new home, which has excited their peculiar-eyed curiosity and have slowly set them upon the path to being brought out of their solid shell, and I have been able to make some progress with the timid pair by managing to stroke Bart's silky soft fur very lightly, creating a soothing atmosphere for himself and slowly gaining his trust. Although I usually stick to a regular bedtime rather strictly as to not disrupt my easily thrown-out-of-course sleeping patterns, I couldn't have cared less about hopping into my warm bed at a later time on Friday night when Bart eventually allowed me to place a finger upon his handsome fur coat - unlike Benny, whose darker, gold-specked furry gives me a strong impression of both my former cats, Tom and Jerry, Bart is a grey tabby with a smaller amount of white fur on his paws - which made my heart swell with happiness and my head ache with sleepy-eyed exhaustion. Bart nearly knocked me for six when he opened himself to human contact within a few hours of entering what would appear as a strange, noisy building in his muddled mind, which will hopefully give out a positive signal for his 'touchier' brother (i.e. Benny has either picked up on my hormonal tendencies or had some serious drama queen problems before I adopted him) to feel confident in my presence.

Meanwhile, I've finally figured out that Benny had assumed the tough role as a mother figure for Bart and presumably the other two kittens in the litter because he initially had a tendency to hiss and spit like a sweaty, saliva-drooling footballer if any of my family dared to make a single move towards his tensed form. Even placing a bowl of food which he would secretly gobble up with a feverous hunger in front of him would derive a sudden bout of irritation and mean-eyed fury - just like myself whenever I've made the most of my wild cat knowledge and growled like a lion towards my annoying brother, Benny would either give me the evils or grumble more dangerously than the head-banging building site near my home! To my relief, though, Benny's mood has steadily calmed down and been reduced to an occasional snake-inspired hiss (who knows from which source he picked up his fright-inducing ideas?), which has fizzled out my initial fear of getting near him to a hysterical giggle; why allow fear to tug at my heartstrings when my dad is obliged to carry the kittens in their box and give them a bowl of food every few hours? At the moment, I would rather it not be me, so I can happily lie back on the sofa and smirk in spite of my dad's cries when Benny's menacing side takes over! If Benny gradually gives a form of permission to stroke him and eventually become accustomed to daily life, I think that he and I will get on very well together - teenage and kitten drama queens have quite a ring to it, don't you think?

Despite making a not-so-secret promise to myself that I would try to avoid placing a particular emphasis on the adorable two Kits (one promise which I hope to keep is to upload a picture of the pair on a future blog entry; surprisingly, both of them rather enjoy playing the role of main stars in front of a camera!), I guess that I couldn't help myself to talking about them, could I? What with my brother turning thirteen last Saturday and having a life-changing epiphany regarding ridiculously sweet chocolate milkshakes last weekend and my long-awaited kittens turning up this week, weekends - and upcoming Sunday roasts - have never seemed better! I'm already thinking about this time next week where my spirits are preparing to be lifted in relation to Benny's Hollywood-diva attitude becoming a bit more humble: where will next week take me and my utterly adorable kittens?