The Cage of Rage

As a kid I always loved cats. My cousin and I spent countless hour in the hayloft finding batches of kittens hidden in the floors and walls. We would sit and watch and wait. The patience we had back then is pretty amazing.


Recently I saw a mouse scuttle in my garage. My garage is attached to my house and this rodent was a bit close for my comfort. I didn't want poison or traps because I have a toddler and a dog. Personally, I'd like them in the house. But the Husband is slightly allergic plus a clean freak. The amount of dog hair we find kicking around drives him crazy. A cat would make him insane.

A cat would have to live in the garage. I worried that one cat would want to constantly sneak into the house. Litter mates would keep each other company and provide body warmth for each other.

I found an ad for some older kittens that had been born wild. I figure cats born wild and then tamed would be better mousers and more independent than babies born tame. After emailing for a while, I convinced my Dad to accompany me for the pickup. The first kitten was caught quite easily although he was nervous. Kitty number two exploded, biting through leather gloves to make my dad bleed.

I've had them for a week now. They live in the old dog kennel with a litter box, blankets, food and water. I spend a bit of time with them daily. However, I have way less time than when I was a kid with no responsibilities. Back then I'm sure they would be totally tame already.

But for now... they're mostly pissed off. Every time I come to bring them food and water kitty #2 spits at me. She's a devil. He's more laid back but still hisses regularly when I visit.

So, in my garage sits a cage. Full of rage.

I won't hurt you babies. Trust me.