“Preferably one that doesn’t thirst for my blood.”

That was weird.

I’m kind of a cat person. In the course of a long life I’ve known lots of cats including some scarily feisty kittens. But this one was just evil.

Yeah, sure, it was scared. I can understand that. But most six-week kittens aren’t quite as adept and willing at violent self-defense as this one was. My first thought upon meeting it was that it seemed rather large and well-formed for six weeks, and I suppose that was probably as much a misrepresentation as its gender. It hissed at me when I took it out of its crate, but that was understandable and it was actually fine when I was holding it.

Its reaction to the boys was completely different. More like “Go away or somebody bleeds,” and the dogs were prepared to believe it. I’ve never heard that war cry from the throat of a round-eyed little kitten before. It was like the Tasmanian Devil from those WB cartoons, but without the humor. There was nothing at all in this situation that said, “He’ll learn to get along with them.”

Understand, both of these dogs were not only raised with cats but literally by cats. They like cats, and would never dream of hurting one. They found this one’s reaction to them quite intimidating. Little Bear, my big, black, rabbit-eating doggie, tried to escape it by climbing into my lap. Twice. It was pathetic.

So anyway, the dog-fileting Kitten from Hell is gone now, and the Lair is safe. Landlady is back on the job with Operation Obtain Kitten. Preferably, like I said to her, one that doesn’t thirst for my blood.