Wilbur and Charlotte – ready for a new home

I generally wait a while until kitties start to display personalities before I stick them with permanent names, and this time is no different. I’d called my gray and white baby girl Frankie, and the gray boy Mischa. But these names are both too butch and too fancy for the kitties they’ve become in these four weeks of indoor living. So they are now Charlotte for the uber-girlie and prissy wee female, and Wilbur for the hilariously laid-back, aw-shucks little boy charmer. They’ve pretty much lost all their fear, as evidence by these photos of them completely unconscious in sleep.

I’m hopefully going to take them in for spay and neuter next week, and then continue the full court press for a new home – hopefully together. As happens this time of year, everything dates back from Litquake, which begins Oct. 11. I leave two days after it’s done on the 19th, for two weeks in the Northwest, and would love for them to be happily ensconced before then. And these things can sometimes take a while.

In the meanwhile they continue to socialize and grow into utter sweet peas. Charlotte is still a bit standoffish – anxious when she is held, but loves to be petted on the ground, and Wilbur is a total glutton for love, and a hilarious little clown.

The extraordinary thing is that when I was away this last weekend, they busted through their confinement in my bathroom and began hanging out with Pokey, their grandpa, who is confined in my larger bedroom. When my petsitter, Kim, told me this, I freaked. Pokey is FIV+ and very territorial. I feared he would hurt them and could do permanent damage with a bite. But she assured me that it was instant, besotted love between the three of them, and every time she looked under the bed, they were in a big pile of furry cuddles.

When I got home, I was astounded. Pokey came out to greet me, followed by the two wee ones, who rubbed against him frantically. And for his part, he seemed absolutely overjoyed to  have friends. He now lies on his (big fat) side, while they romp and sleep on him, chewing on his ears and swatting at his tail, and he is just as sweet as he can be.

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Does he know that they’re his offspring?? That Mama Grace is his daughter and therefore he’s their gramps? It’s hard to know, but surely he must detect a hint of common DNA? How else to explain his rather amazing conversion?

It’s been less than a week, but I’m already worrying about taking them away from Pokey when they are adopted. I’ve never seen him happier in the 18 months since I rescued him. Francis, I could use some guidance on this one. Meanwhile, I’m luxuriating in kitten adorableness. I’m trying to drink it in, as they’ll be gone all too soon.