Kittens: Fascinating Creatures

What makes kittens so especially fascinating? My 3-month-old Siamese, Hu Jin is a wonder. Is it because he is so light? He walks across the wood floor like a spectre, almost floating, his tiny feet making not a sound. He's like the fluff from a milkweed pod, a dandelion clock, the feathers bursting from a split pillow. One puff and he'd disintegrate into a spray of fine, white fur.

When I pick him up, (which he resists, squirming), he feels minute, insubstantial in my hands, his little head fragile as an egg. And he is so delicate, so pliable, his limbs are like pipe cleaner, his brown paws flimsy and loose.

And then there is his irresistible softness. It's nothing like fleece or velvet. It has its own unique depth and texture, inviting strokes, lips on the downy head between the silken ears. It arouses some kind of tactile longing, gratified only with contact. Lying curled up in a chair, he stretches out and rolls over when petted, revealing a tummy whose fur is luxurious and baby-fine, not the stiffer fur of an adult.

Actually, he has all the wildness, all the self-assurance of an adult. Puppies are like toddlers. Unsteady, adorably awkward. They galumph and romp, paws too big for their roly-poly bodies. But kittens are already pure instinct: the alert way they stalk and pounce, the way they rub their bodies, their faces against things, they way they stretch themselves to clean, the way they leap, the way they use the kitty litter.

Already Hu Jin's small body broadcasts the taut sleekness, the delineated, reserved confidence of a big cat. I see the veldt in him, the jungle. He paces with purpose; he attacks a piece of crumpled cellophane as if his life depended on it. He charges around pursuing imaginary prey with the intensity of a cheetah. His yowls are mini-roars announcing his presumed power. The only unformed thing about him is his fragile size. That and his expressive face are what make him cute. Otherwise, I see him as mature beyond his months.

I haven't had many kittens. Mostly I've had a lot of cats, strays or handovers. But every kitten in my life was a character, with an endearing set of behaviors that set him or her apart.

Pookie, a Siamese noisily growled at and attacked invisible critters in corners. She also played a mean game of fetch. Rammy, her male cohort, babysat, including cleaning and faux-nursing, Pookie's litter of five when he was still little himself. Roots, a Yukon kitten, came for long walks in the bush, following behind us like a dog, mewling all the way. Yo-Yi, another Siamese who also was a keen fetcher befriended Jake, our Bichon and did his best to keep him clean. Finally came Niger, the gregarious prince, lover to our first Great Dane Lily and anyone else available. If you were sitting, you got Niger on your chest, purring, butting your chin. If you were sleeping over, he'd want under your covers. Niger was curious and a bit clumsy and he broke a number of precious things during his explorations on tabletops and counters.

And now there's Hu Jin. He's assertive and resourceful, the most independent kitten I've ever had. And he's bold, absolutely unphased from the moment he arrived by Maggie, the Great Dane who wants to nibble him and Hutchie and Gracie, the two territorial Toy Poodles who growl at him. "Whatever!", he says, bumping against them. He's slept on our bed almost from the first night we had him, oblivious to the fact - or ignoring it - that the Poodles claim the space as their own.

Although I'm enjoying his "babyhood", the hyperactive, furry streak that he is, I'm looking forward to him as a cat, when he's grown into being sleepy and sedate and companionable and the world is there less for the taking and more for the giving.