The Kitten arrived.
And was immediately hustled into the bedroom while I distracted my old, crazy, mean, neurotic cat, Kobi.
I taped sheets of aluminum foil all over the bedroom door to keep Kobi from scratching the shit out of it (you should see what she has done to my baseboards).
It totally worked. Kobi just likes to pat the foil. Pat pat pat, goes Kobi. “Crinkle crinkle crinkle,” says the foil.
For hours. All night.
The kitten soon found his way under the bed and refused to come out again. No, not to eat. No, not to poop. No, not even to pee.
Kobi and I hung out for a few hours in the living room watching the Vampers Diaries. I finally convinced her to stop playing the aluminum foil bongos and we marveled as Stefan turned evil over human blood.
I went to bed, hoping kitten would relax and venture forth. See above, re: nope.
By 2 AM, I had to pee, so I ventured forth. Kobi, crying, “MEOW” (translated: “CARPE DIEM MUTHAFUCKERS!!!”) made a mad dash for the bedroom. However, she is pretty chubby, so I blocked her and trapped her fat ass in the frame with my legs.
I decided to spend the rest of the night on the couch. Kobi, who never ever cuddles anywhere except the bedroom, and only for maybe an hour at most, completely on her limited, crazy ass terms, slept at my feet.
Morning check-in: kitten, still under the bed. Kobi: still crazy.