The Kitten

"You can do no great things. Only small things with great love" -Mother Therese

Every fiber studio needs a cat, of course. Wilbur Riverpebble fits the bill nicely. Performs all of the cat functions. He of course supervises my fiber work in a very paws on manner. Now that he has discovered the location of his basket of toys, he jumps up and rummages around until he finds his favorite toy, a felt ball, always the same one, pulls it out, puts it in his mouth, and jumps off to go play with it. 

 

And he fetches! He does this from his first day here, and I have been working with him to do it on command. He also shakes hands/paws. The trick to teaching a kitty tricks is to notice what they do, name it, then request and reward it. This kitty is motivated by praise, some are more excited by food. 

I find the praise motivated ones to be better for teaching tricks to.  I also kind of randomly lavish praise upon this little one just for being there while not doing anything he shouldn't be doing, every few minutes or so. He just loves that, so he keeps good track of my movements. With kitties you never do aversive training, only positive reinforcement.

 

I find my kitten online. The day I look, there are four batches of kittens on offer. A "rehoming" fee is requested by most, ranging from $200 to $20 to $10 to free. Almost all of the kittens are tuxedo, black and white, so I figure it must be tuxedo kitten week. 

So who to call? The two hundred dollar ad sounds whiny and grumpy, like their kittens are a lot a trouble to care for. How to find the perfect match, I wonder. My criteria are these two: the kitten must be hand raised, and its mother has to be a good mouser. This is after all the countryside, and this would be a country kitty. 

The ten dollar kitten litter wins. It has all tuxedo kittens, but the ad gives a profile of each one, describing the special characteristics of each kitten, their personalities, fur type, and cute markings. This person obviously knows and loves them well!

I arrive at the place where they were born. It's a rundown government subsidized housing complex. The apartment has a black guy sitting out on the doorstep smoking a tobacco vape pipe. He has that deep dark skin color like an African, and he has a beard. He looks like some kind of cool jazz dude. 

 Inside the apartment it is smoky with tobacco, and the person I talked to on the phone appears with the kittens. She looks about fifteen years old, and she is as porcelain-pale as he is dark, with long white-blond hair that hangs limp, like straw. It is noon, and she looks like maybe she just woke up. School is out for the summer.

 

I ask if the mother cat is a good mouser. Oh yes, she replies, she brings in big rats! I feel sad for these people that have to deal with the big rats. They both are sweet gentle spirits. Black and white, just like my kitty. Wilbur picks me out. He is the mellow one of the litter, they tell me. It is true. Wilbur plays hard and fast, but then he relaxes and cuddles and purrs just right. Good kitty!