The Ninja Kittens

If you’ve ever had a kitten, or wasted countless hours on the internet watching videos of kittens, you know they can be quite a riot. They’re cute and fuzzy and usually not the brightest crayon in the box; their depth perception isn’t well developed and they think they’re invincible. If you have kittens, you don’t need television.


My husband and I do rescue and have for several years. All the cats we have are special needs and/or “too old” to be easily re-homed. We have quite the mash-up, too. Some are smart as hell. Others dumber than a brick. Some can go from doing one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever seen to one of the stupidest things I’ve ever seen in a matter of seconds.

One of our little monsters got out a few months back and we didn’t realize until the next morning when she was clawing at the door to come in. We have no clue how she got out – but she did – and apparently she had a hell of a time.

She walked in, rather strolled in, looking like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet and was quite satisfied with her night of debauchery. If she wore clothes, they would have been inside out and backwards. Her panties would have been casually shoved in her purse and her lipstick where her eyebrows used to be.

Life went on. She’s a mini so we never noticed any weight gain or anything. But, our little fancy tailed Luna surprised us by “popping out” a little souvenir of her night on the town a couple months ago. Two little souvenirs in fact.

Having done rescue, we have a converted laundry chute in the bathroom where we keep kittens that is temperature controlled, padded, dark to allow proper eye development and restricted from all other cats except one who may be nursing, in this case Luna the slutty little whore (who, has in fact been a very diligent and devoted mother).


Maybe too good, since these little monsters are fat. I mean, round. I’m surprised I haven’t walked in on one on its back and unable to flip over. They’ve learned to escape the chute but stay restricted to the bathroom since they’re not quite big enough to take on the other cats, despite what they may think.

We were referring to them as “the chubs in the tub”, until they figured out how to escape the tub. Now, they run wild, with all the care and abandon of a three year old hopped up on Jolt Cola and Pixie Stix…just with piranha-like teeth and wicked sharp little talons that, being about 2-2.5 months old, they would rather leave extended at all times than learn to let them recede when otherwise not necessary.

I haven’t been feeling well (as mentioned, on the tail end of a cold/flu and have a giant gash in my leg, which hit the muscle and has bruised and left my entire right quadricep very angry – this is another blog, because while its a gruesome tale, it’s an important one), so I’m not moving terribly fast. Especially not compared to the ninja kittens. Yeah, they look all cute and cuddly alright. But, as the great Shel Silverstein wrote,

“The problem with a kitten is that,

Eventually, it becomes a cat.”

What he failed to mention is while cuddly and adorable, they’re also hell on claws. Yesterday, I had to literally peel my husband’s cat off the wall because the ninja kittens had decided to play some fucked up version of whack-a-mole, with their paws, under the bathroom door. Craig’s cat, Ruggus T. Rattious, being curious as to the commotion in the hallway, sauntered down to the bathroom door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And, just as he was about to give up and turn tail on the situation, a small, grey paw darted out from under the door, sending him flying at least 6-8′ off the floor, claws extended, hair raised, hissing and spitting, much to what I imagine was very amusing to the ninja kittens.


This is an actual conversation that happened between my husband and myself a few minutes ago.

“Ninja kitten fail #238:

Wanted in bathtub to get drink. Put in bathtub to get drink. Was done drinking and jumped out as I stood from toilet.

Jumped in toilet.

Had to be fished out of toilet.

Wiggled around and slipped out of hand like fish.

Fell back in toilet.

Had to be fished out of toilet again.

Is wet and NOT happy (me and ninja kitten).

As you were.”

I was laughed at. Not only by my husband, but the second ninja kitten as well, I’m almost positive.

At the rate they’re developing, they’re going to be tiny terrors by the time they’re wiened enough to re-home. Naturally, being female, I sit to use the toilet. My ankles have apparently done something very bad in a past life because Nina kittens are delivering a very sharp and stabby style of karmic vengeance. And, while they are perfectly capible of getting in and out of the tub for a drink, up on the counter, on (or in) the toilet (we always put the lid down but I just wasn’t moving fast enough to beat the ninja kitten’s ninja speed), and so fourth, I’ve already warned Craig he may want to keep an eye on his…*ahem*…”bits”, when he goes in, since, as most kittens are, they are fascinated by anything that dangles.

Pray for us. Pray for my ankles. Pray for my hubby’s penis. Pray for our sanity. Most of all, pray they don’t start making their own crude, ninja weapons. In fact, I can hear them in the bathroom now – knocking over my perfume and probably eating my lipglosses. In true ninja tradition, they are sneaky and crafty. Don’t be fooled by the cute.

And…pray.

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