I, Servant of Fang

Fang is a six month old tabby and white kitten. I have been chosen to be his primary servant here at La Casa O-C.

With regard to naughtiness, Fang is in a league of his own, regularly disappearing with my sister’s cellphone or trying to quite literally grab the food off our plates. I have wrestled a piece of chicken and a lamb chop from his grubby little paws.

He thinks nothing of using his humans as step ladders, drawing blood as he makes his way from knee to shoulder. Little bastard. My back is covered in scratch marks and I’m not talking about the fun kind. Once on my shoulder, he elects to stay there, even when I stand up to walk around. Most disconcerting, since he refuses to move from his perch even when I have to make the necessary visits to the bathroom.

He’s also remarkably affectionate. At night he purrs around me in great big circles, trying to find the comfiest spot to lie down. While on his circuit of my blankets and me, he stops several times to lick me on the nose with his rough little tongue, or purr noisily while trying to nibble my ear. Or he chews on my pajama top. And in the morning he resorts to batting my cheek with his paw. If that doesn’t work, he tries biting my cheek. Or my nose. Little bastard.

He isn’t a cat that meows. Instead, he emits a high-pitched squeak. He’s singed his eyebrow whiskers by straying too close to a candle. He regularly chases after the other (larger) cats in the house. I no longer deem the water I leave beside my bed as safe to drink because he likes to stick his face in and drink from the glass. Doesn’t matter that he has a bowl of clean water in the kitchen.

Right now he is resting on my hand bag at my feet, in a very convenient patch of sun, warming himself. Like this, it’s hard to imagine he’s a little terror. I bet he’s gathering his energy so that he can bite my toes under the covers tonight.