“Mattie, Matilda, May, Tillie. Tillie’s about right.”
So quoth the Treasure when naming the youngest member of the household, who turned up at lunchtime today. Meet Tillie:
Yes, we’ve taken the plunge with another kitten. Opportunity literally came knocking at our door on Friday afternoon, when N., the neighbor who’s looked after our cats every holiday for the past six years, turned up with her niece. N. is a terrific pet-loving lady, who houses rescue animals and gives her cats human names like “Dennis” and is an enviably adept gardener.
Her niece showed Trev a picture on her Blackberry of a tiny, coiled-up ball of grey fluff.
He came back to consult with me. I’d had my heart set on getting a big, lazy, snuggly boy-cat at some point, but I was charmed by the picture. “We’ll come by and see her at the weekend,” Trev said to the ladies.
By this morning we had decided simply to go and collect her. Her first family had named her Rosie, and we couldn’t let that stick, so we went through a few names until Trev decided on Tillie. Which is cool, that’s a diminutive of Matilda, and Empress Matilda of England (mother of Henry II) was pretty tough stuff, even if she’s never officially listed as a monarch.
She did the kitten thing of slinking around under bits of furniture for about half an hour, and then emerged from hiding to attack a pile of freshly-folded laundry. When it was subdued, she laid claim to her territory by napping on it. Then we gave her some tuna, and then we let the Bean train her for future battles by means of the catnip mouse:
She is feisty, and used my cast as a scratching post (the only useful employment for it, as far as I can see). Quinn is TERRIFIED of her, hissing and meowing and slinking away as if we’d brought home a schnauzer. Things should settle down after a few days.
Meanwhile: Kitten Thinks Of Nothing But Murder All Day.