Pitter-patter of little feet

Perhaps "thunder" of little feet is a more accurate title ... who knew two three-pound kittens could make such noise?

We managed to catch the kittens and get them to the vet last week, and both checked out OK. So now that they've been tested and vaccinated, we felt OK bringing them inside the house and introducing them to our other cats. But since we were heading out of town for the weekend, we didn't really want to set them free in 2,000 square feet and make them fend for themselves amidst six very set-in-their-ways older cats. So we closed them in Maggie's playroom while we were gone. This was a fine arrangement; they were so traumatized by their vet visit that they didn't come out much anyway, at least not when we set foot in the room. We knew they were alive by the sound of them racing around the room when the door was closed, and by the constant relocation of every cat toy we'd given them.

So last night, Bobby gets the bright idea to leave their door open and "introduce" them to the big big world that is their new home. We barricaded the top of the stairs to prevent them going down, and they came out quickly to explore ... bless their adventurous little souls. The older cats were growling and hissing, but whenever confronted by this, the kittens took one step back, cocked their heads to the left, and went right on with their investigations. Guess no one told them they're supposed to be territorial.

All was well until about 11:30 last night. I was shutting down the computer when I heard a light thud. I looked behind me and saw a slightly stunned kitten in my foyer, half standing, half sitting. He fell off the balcony!!! (We have a two-story foyer.) As soon as he regained his composure he bolted, and I had no idea to where. I'd had the back door open since the night was so cool, and I immediately ran to close it, hoping he hadn't already snuck outside. I looked everywhere, got out the flashlight, looked under furniture ... the whole nine yards ... no kitten. I called Bob for reinforcement (he was thrilled to have been awakened for this), and he searched the garage while I searched the back yard. No kitten.

We were standing in the kitchen wondering whether we should continue searching (my preference) or give up and go to bed (Bob's preference). It was approaching midnight, and we were about to call off the search when we heard a tiny, scratchy, "mew." It's coming from the den! No, it's coming from upstairs! No, it's coming from the computer room! We found the skydiving kitten behind our printer stand. After another 15 minutes of highly ineffective coaxing, I managed to grab a hair on his tail, and I hung on for dear life. I dragged the poor kitten out by his tail, then tried for a better grip once I got him closer. He was sort of on his back by this point, with all the squirming, and putting my hand down there was akin to sticking my hand into a tank of piranhas. Or so I imagine. The claws were out, the legs were flailing, and the razor-sharp teeth were moving faster than I've ever seen.

I managed to get him and carry him back upstairs to the playroom. Then chapter 2 began ... trying to corral his sister back into the playroom too; after all, we can't quarantine one and not the other. That was relatively easy; she's so skiddish that when confronted with contact from one of us, she ran in the other direction, so we basically chased her into the room. I thought we'd never see either of them again, such an ordeal was this, but within 10 minutes we heard banging on their door. What did I see when I got up to check on them? Four furry black paws sticking out under the door.

At that point, we found wisdom and peace in the words, "Screw it." I made sure the balcony was sufficiently blocked, then I opened their door and let them do whatever the heck they wanted. From the sounds of things, they did just fine. I, on the other hand, got practically no sleep since they were constantly running up and down the hallway, pouncing on every noisemaking toy and non-toy they could find, and (I'm not sure, but this is what it sounded like) leaping through the big houseplant in our bedroom.

As of 6:30 this morning, they haven't made a sound. I imagine they're curled up somewhere in their room, sleeping off their adventure hangover.